Bittersweet Misery
by notinmyvocab
Summary: After everything Isabel Noble had been through, she was confident that she could handle attending an academy for witches. That notion disappeared the second she walked in.
1. Prologue

Hello and welcome to the coven installment of the Misery series! I know I've posted and deleted this story a bunch of times in the past. But after months of plotting and figuring out logistics, and also being recently inspired by Apocalypse, I present the new and improved Coven fic! So enjoy! This is part of the Misery series, but you do not necessarily have to read the other stories for this one to make sense

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Prologue

2014

The clinking of dry cereal hitting the porcelain bowl was loud enough to drown out the noise coming from the television, so Isabel didn't hear the news story right away. It wasn't until she sat down on the small couch, legs tucked under her, that she noticed who was being interviewed on _Good Morning America._ Her grip on the cereal bowl loosened and she nearly dropped it in surprise.

Cordelia Foxx was speaking candidly about witches.

It wasn't something Isabel thought she'd ever see in her lifetime. When she had been at the academy, it had been vital that witchcraft be kept a secret for security reasons. Now, the headmistress of Miss Robichaux's, the same headmistress who taught her to never show magic to anyone outside of the coven, was advertising the academy.

Isabel watched, completely captivated, her cereal now forgotten and getting soggy in the two percent milk. As Cordelia kept talking, Isabel read the label on the screen below Cordelia's image: "Cordelia Foxx: Supreme and Headmistress."

Supreme.

Well, a lot had certainly changed since she left the academy. Did that mean…? Probably.

 _Ding dong, the witch is dead_ , Isabel thought to herself. It was an awful thing. Fiona Goode had been a manipulative bitch, but Isabel knew better than anyone to speak ill of the dead. Cordelia probably thought the same thing, though.

Was there a funeral? Isabel didn't hear anything about it, so probably not. Fiona wouldn't want her downfall advertised.

Remembering her cereal, Isabel took a bite as soon as her cellphone went off. Her father's picture filled up the screen.

"Hullo?" Isabel said into the receiver with a mouthful of Froot Loops.

"Bad time?" Derek teased, knowing that the muffled sound of his daughter's voice was because she was in mid-chew.

Isabel swallowed. "Nah, you're good."

"Cereal?"

"Yup."

"Makes you miss Moira's cooking, I bet."

"Nothing beats her Sunday brunch. So what's up?"

"Did you see the _Good Morning America_?" Derek asked. "Cordelia's being interviewed. Looks like she's advertising the academy."

"Headmistress, Supreme, and interviewee extraordinaire. That woman can do anything." Isabel set aside the cereal bowl and sat back on the couch, watching as the story switched over to the local weather.

There was a pause, and then Derek asked, "Do you ever consider going back?"

It was a valid question, but one that Isabel wished he wouldn't ever ask. She had gone to the academy; she had done her time. It wasn't an awful place, but Isabel couldn't go back to study there.

"I got what I needed from that place. No point in going back." She had learned to control her powers. That was the lesson Cordelia provided and it was all Isabel asked for. She never wanted to learn about furthering her magic, and she still wasn't interested. She had her own life now. Her own little apartment in New Orleans, a cozy job at a cafe; she was comfortable now. No use in disturbing the peace. "Maybe I'll stop by, though. Catch up and stuff."

She wouldn't, and they both knew it. Miss Robichaux's had served as a home, and Isabel didn't harbor animosity towards Cordelia or the Coven. But Isabel wouldn't go back, not after everything that happened.


	2. Chapter 1

Late 2011

The academy loomed over Isabel, trying to intimidate her. It wasn't successful. Isabel encountered more frightening places in her lifetime; Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies was nothing compared to where Isabel lived or where she had been. It was nothing compared to Hell.

She dragged her large suitcase up the front steps and stood in front of the door. Should she knock? Would the door open by magic?

The door opened, not by magic but rather by a creepy man with long, scraggly hair and yellowed fingernails dressed in such a way that made it clear he was a butler.

"Um, hi," Isabel said before glancing over her shoulder, seeing the car that dropped her off vanished. Fuck. As crazy as that Myrtle Snow woman had been, Isabel wished she stuck around for just a few more minutes.

The butler said nothing and just stepped aside to let Isabel in.

The walls were white and the hardwood floors were polished to perfection, not a scuff mark in sight despite the age of the academy. There was a clinical feel about the place, and Isabel had to wonder if this was a mental institute in disguise.

Her footsteps resonated in the foyer, each echo making her feel lonelier. She looked to the butler, who still hadn't said anything. "So… what's your name?"

No response.

The butler walked off, leaving Isabel in the foyer to wonder if she had somehow offended him.

She looked up at the ceiling, noticing how high it went. This place was so roomy, but it felt so empty. She couldn't imagine ever being comfortable in such a spacious house. True, her home back in Los Angeles was also very roomy, but it was warm and welcoming and was the home to more than just the small Noble family. With ghosts around every corner, a large Victorian style house was necessary. Here it was excessive.

"You must be Isabel."

A woman with long blonde hair and a relieved smiled entered the foyer. Finally, a new student! She approached Isabel with an outstretched hand. "I'm Cordelia Foxx, the headmistress of Miss Robichaux's. It's nice to meet you."

It was very strange. Why would a woman who radiated warmth be the headmistress of such a cold place? Isabel shook Cordelia's hand. "Nice to meet you, too."

The butler reappeared and grabbed Isabel's suitcase.

"Thank you, Spalding," said Cordelia, who then began leading the way up the staircase to bring Isabel to her room.

As they passed by the other rooms, Isabel noticed they were all empty and bare of any possessions other than the basics: bed, vanity, bureau; they were nicer versions of college dorm rooms, and much, much bigger than a dorm. But no one else lived here.

Though Isabel technically could have any pick of the rooms, Cordelia still chose for her. It wasn't much, but it was still some semblance of power. She was the headmistress of an empty school, and if being in charge meant only being able to pick out the rooms for her students, then so be it.

Spalding set down the suitcase and left the room.

"You will have your own room for now," Cordelia said.

Isabel raised her eyebrows. "For now? So there's more people coming?" There was a lilt of excitement in her voice. She relaxed at the thought of not being alone in this place.

Cordelia hesitated, which immediately gave Isabel an answer: no, there wasn't anyone else. "Well, there might be. Some girls recognize early on that they have magic. Others are like you: powers just show up. So there is always a chance that a new student will come along unexpectedly."

"But I'm the only one right now?"

"Yes, you are." Cordelia wished it didn't sound so heartbreaking. "There are other witches in the world. We aren't the only coven. Being a witch can be dangerous, though. Many of us have gone into hiding."

Her birth mother had, Isabel realized. In a way, Constance had gone into hiding. She didn't go out of her way to hide her magic, but she didn't flaunt it. She wasn't shouting about being a witch from the rooftops.

"Do you have any questions for me?" Cordelia asked, watching as Isabel wandered around the room to take everything in.

"Not right now… maybe later." She had plenty of questions, actually. But Isabel didn't think she'd be able to articulate any of them. This was a lot to process, and it was just hitting her now that she was here in New Orleans while her father was back in Los Angeles. She didn't know anyone here and there were no other students at the academy. She was alone.

Cordelia gave a sympathetic smile. "Alright then, I'll leave you to get settled. Feel free to explore, and if you have any questions you can find me or Spalding."

"Thanks."

Isabel waited for Cordelia to leave, grateful that she shut the door behind her, and then sat on the edge of the bed with a huff. She was utterly alone; no other witches except for Cordelia. This was really the prestigious witching academy her father insisted she attend? She had been here for not even an hour and already Isabel was longing for home.

Her father was just a phone call away. She could ring him up and beg him to take her home. Derek was well aware that Isabel didn't want to be at that place.

It wasn't that she had anything against Miss Robichaux's. The idea of a witching academy rather than having untrained witches running around and casting spells was a smart one. But being sent away? It was awful. Moving was not the problem. She and Derek had lived all over the country. This time, she wasn't with him. She explored new places with Derek, and now she was all on her own.

What made it worse was that this was her birth mother's decision. The woman who had been absent for nearly seventeen years was now in charge of her life. It didn't make sense; none of this made any sense!

The academy was eerily quiet, too. Even back home when it was quiet, Isabel knew that she was never truly alone unless she was in her bedroom. Spirits filled the Murder House to the brim, and Isabel could always feel them. Here, she felt nothing but emptiness. Maybe she had performed Descensum and this was another version of Hell?

She pulled her cellphone out of her back pocket and stared at it, silently begging for it to ring. She didn't care if it was even Constance calling; she would answer it. Okay, maybe not if it was Constance. But surely her father would want to know if she had settled in just fine?

Unless he was writing. If that was the case, then it would be another few hours before he even looked at his phone. She would just have to wait. If he was writing, calling him would be pointless; he never picked up when he was in the zone.

With an exasperated sigh, Isabel pushed herself off of the bed. Cordelia invited her to explore, and there was no way Isabel was going to pass up on that offer. Unpacking could wait until later.

She made her way downstairs as the top floor didn't have much in terms of exploration. Hearing her footsteps made her want to flinch; this place was so empty. But she pushed on, learning to ignore it.

The kitchen was easy to find, and it didn't interest her much. She hadn't even been there a full day and already she missed Moira's cooking. Moving right along, she found a living room with a fireplace and overstuffed chairs. A good reading room if she found the time (she didn't doubt that she would). There was even a piano. Maybe she would try and teach herself how to play. But that wasn't the most fascinating thing about this room. It was the walls.

The walls were covered with paintings of formidable looking women. Isabel walked up to one of the paintings that was eye level and read the name inscribed on a small plaque at the bottom of the frame. There was a name and dates given, but nothing else. Who were these women?

One painting in particular stood out amongst the rest: a large portrait of a woman from the twenties. Isabel stood in front of it, unable to stop staring. It was the eyes of the painting; they looked just like Isabel's.

"Mimi Delongpre," said a voice from behind Isabel.

Isabel turned around to see a woman who was not Cordelia. No, this woman was too suave to be Cordelia. She wore all black and held a cigarette between two fingers. The air of confidence around her was unmistakable.

The woman continued, "One of the finest Supremes this coven had ever seen. Taken before her time."

"Did you say Delongpre?" Isabel asked, despite the name being on the little plaque right in front of her face. That name…

 _Eventually, one Supreme who came into power was a young woman named Mimi Delongpre. She was a fantastic witch… and also a distant cousin of mine._

That was what Isabel's birth mother had said. So Mimi Delongpre was a distant cousin of hers as well.

"The whole family fell from grace," the woman said before taking a long drag from her cigarette. "Damn shame."

This entire time, the woman had kept her gaze on the painting of Mimi. Her eyes finally landed on Isabel. "So you're the new girl."

"Isabel."

The woman cocked her head to the side, drinking in the image of Isabel. Such a plain girl. Young, probably immature. "I'm Fiona Goode."

"And are you like… in charge here?" Isabel knew Cordelia was the headmistress, but this woman exuded authority. Maybe she was higher up? Like a superintendent?

The woman chuckled, amused by the naïveté. "I'm the Supreme. I'm in charge everywhere."


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who has read the story thus far! I really appreciate the views. Specials thanks to AFAN for the kind reviews. To answer your question: there was an asylum installment of this series. I took it down though because it wasn't what I wanted it to be. It just wasn't my best writing and you, as readers, deserved so much better.

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CHAPTER TWO

She survived her first week at the academy, not like there was anything to survive. The goal here seemed to be repression, not that Isabel was complaining. That was what she was looking for. This whole witching thing wasn't for her. Controlling her powers? Fine. Repressing them? Even better.

"So how come the Supreme isn't the headmistress of the school?" Isabel asked as she poured milk into her tea.

Cordelia turned a page of the book she was invested in, reading glasses perched at the end of her nose. "If you met our Supreme, you'd understand why."

"I did… still don't understand."

"You met Fiona?" Cordelia looked up from her book, eyes wide with surprise. "How? When was she here?"

"First day I got here," Isabel answered, walking over to the kitchen table and sitting down. "I was in the ancestor room and she just showed up."

Cordelia pursed her lips. So, Fiona was here and she didn't know. No doubt that was going to be something Fiona would hold over her. _How oblivious can you be, Delia? How can you protect the coven when you don't even know when the Supreme shows up?_

"And what did she say?" Cordelia asked, bitterness peppering her voice.

"Methinks the lady doth harbor hatred."

Cordelia looked unamused.

"Sorry," Isabel said quickly. "But seriously, you clearly have something against her. Why?"

Smirking mirthlessly, Cordelia marked the page of her book and set it aside. "She's my mother."

"Say no more." Isabel didn't need any more information. Poor mother/daughter relationships were something Isabel understood well considering she had one with her own mother. "I get it. My mother and I don't get along either… we're kind of strangers." Was that sharing too much? Was she oversharing with her headmistress? Well, too late now; it was out in the open.

Cordelia didn't seem to mind. She didn't mind at all. It was good for a headmistress to know her students, right? This could be an interesting insight to her only student. Teaching someone became much easier when she knew more about them. "And why's that?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"Well now you have me intrigued."

"''""""'"""'""""

Nights were the worst. Sleeping was becoming increasingly difficult. It was just too damn quiet. Not even a peaceful sort of quiet! It was incredibly unnerving; even music from her phone couldn't soothe her. It was aggravating. Isabel was absolutely emotionally exhausted after sharing her story with Cordelia.

She thought she would have been fine talking about her distaste for Constance. She wasn't bothered by being given up for adoption. It was Constance trying to shove her way back into her life. Thankfully, Cordelia seemed to be dealing with the same bullshit, except Fiona wasn't bothering trying to come back into her daughter's life.

Being at the academy sucked so far, but at least her headmistress was understanding. That wasn't helping with the sleeping situation, though.

Giving up on sleep yet again, Isabel kicked off the covers of her bed and left the room. The hardwood was cool against her bare feet. None of the stairs creaked, much to her relief. She silently walked into the ancestor room. It was dark except for the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

She approached the painting of Mimi, absolutely captivated by it. Isabel didn't know how much about this ancestor of hers, but she could tell that Mimi had been a woman to behold. What happened to her? What was her fate?

"I must say―" Isabel whirled around to find Fiona standing in the entryway― "you're quite good at sneaking around. But you could do better."

Shrugging off her surprise, Isabel nonchalantly asked, "Does Cordelia know you're here?"

"Does it matter?" Fiona shot back. "I'm the Supreme. This is my coven. I can do whatever I please. That's the beauty of power, something you don't seem to be using."

"Well forgive me for not wanting to go to Hell every day. Not my idea of a prime vacation spot."

So Descensum was Isabel's talent… well, that was something to keep in mind. "And what of your other powers?" Fiona asked casually. She looked like a specter in the moonlight, the silver light casting an ethereal glow on her.

"None."

Fiona pressed her lips together as if in disappointment. One new student and she wasn't even capable of anything beyond Descensum. This coven was falling to shit. She waved her hand, and a fire ignited in the fireplace, the silver light replaced by a warm glow.

Isabel looked away from Fiona, turning her attention back to Mimi's portrait. "Will you tell me about her?"

"Why do you care to know?"

"Curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"And satisfaction brought it back," Isabel finished. "So will you tell me?"

Fiona stared at the portrait, silently asking for permission to tell about Mimi's reign. "Not tonight," she decided, walking past Isabel and going towards the liquor cabinet. She took two crystal snifters and poured brandy into each of them. With a glass in each hand, Fiona turned back to Isabel and offered one of the drinks.

"I'm seventeen," Isabel said, her eyes on the light amber liquid.

"And a rule follower," Fiona mused, pouring the brandy from one of the glasses into the other, making it a double. "We'll have to fix that."

"I'd think that rule following was important for witches. Cordelia's pretty firm about it."

"My daughter has a convoluted view of life. She was too spoiled as a child; has no idea what the real world is like." Fiona took a sip of the brandy, and licked her lips, savoring the smoothness. She noticed how Isabel watched her every move now. An observant girl. Good. "There are some rules you should never break."

"Like telling someone you're a witch?"

"Precisely. Witches are a dying breed, and we cannot afford to flaunt ourselves in front of possible witch hunters."

Fair enough. Cordelia had brought that up as well.

Isabel sat down on the couch in front of the fireplace, soaking up the warmth. It was different than the daily heat of New Orleans. This was comforting. This reminded her of home. She pulled her knees to her chest. "If you don't like how Cordelia teaches, then why aren't you around to teach?"

Nosy girl. Being observant was good. Running her mouth was annoying. "I believe that's my business." She finished off the brandy rather quickly. "It's late. Go to bed; you have to be up early in the morning."

Isabel's brow furrowed. "Why do I have to be up early?" There wasn't classes tomorrow. There was morning ritual, but that wasn't terribly early.

"Breakfast at the Atchafalaya. Meet me at eight, sharp."


	4. Chapter 3

Thank you for the kind reviews! The encouragement really means so much to me!

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CHAPTER THREE

Every muscle and bone in Isabel's body protested as she forced herself out of bed at six in the morning. She had basically taken a two hour nap and now had to get ready for breakfast. Two hours would at least give her plenty of time to just stand in the shower and stare absently into space.

Her makeup took longer than usual, her tiredness making it difficult to get the wings of her eyeliner even enough where they didn't look weird. They didn't need to be perfect, just normal looking enough. Oh well, she could hide any mistakes with mascara.

She didn't have a car; the impala wouldn't fit in the cargo hold of the plane so she had to leave it back in Los Angeles. There was always Cordelia's car, but calling a cab was the better option considering Cordelia was still sleeping and Isabel doubted that she'd be allowed to borrow it.

There was a knock at her bedroom door, and Isabel opened it to find Spalding.

"Oh, morning," Isabel said, trying to sound more friendly than tired. She still felt like Spalding hated her, but she still tried to be nice.

He stepped gestured to the staircase before walking away. Sensing that she ought to follow him, Isabel grabbed her purse and headed to the front door with Spalding leading the way.

Spalding opened the door and a sleek black car was waiting for Isabel. Apparently she wouldn't need a cab after all.

"''"""''""""'

Fiona had arrived already and was seated outside. It was a warm day, but early enough where the heat wasn't unbearable. She sipped her mimosa as one of her personal cars pulled into the parking lot. She watched as Isabel got out of the car, looking more put together than she expected.

This girl was a strange one, and there was something about her that Fiona couldn't quite place; something unsettling. Fiona's gut told her to worry, and Fiona was one to follow her gut feeling.

Isabel approached the table and Fiona gestured for her to sit. "You're awake."

"Barely." She could smell the coffee even from outside, and it helped perk her up. "So is there a reason you wanted to meet here, or did you just feel like treating me?"

Fiona smirked. So the girl had some wit. Good, conversations with her wouldn't be boring. "You wanted answers, and I like mimosas in the morning."

"Well, can't argue with that."

The waiter came by and offered coffee, which Isabel immediately accepted. She sat back, holding the cup between her hands. Silence floated down between them like a delicate feather, waiting to be blown away any second.

Fiona watched Isabel drink her coffee, scrutinizing her as if waiting for her to screw something up. Or perhaps Isabel was just being dramatic.

"You wanted to know about Mimi Delongpre."

"Still do."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

It seemed her wit would only be so tolerable. Fiona pursed her lips together. Why did this girl radiate with curiosity? Why Mimi specifically?" "She was a great witch. She was able to perform all Seven Wonders. But her specialty was Descensum."

That made sense. Isabel wasn't particularly good at Descensum, but it was her only ability at the moment. Things were starting to come together for Isabel, her history falling into place.

"She's family," Isabel said. An answer for an answer was a fair deal. "My birth mother says that she was a cousin or something."

"Adopted?" Fiona asked, concealing her surprise about Isabel's ancestry. She ought to have read her file; this was information she needed to know."

"Yup. Derek Noble."

"The author." She supposed that made sense: Isabel's wit and annoying curiosity due to her being raised by a writer. That wasn't Fiona's concern. Her adoptive father wasn't significant to her at all. It was Isabel's birth family that was troubling. A descendent of Mimi Delongpre meant power. It meant a threat.

"Are you adopted?"

Fiona raised her eyebrows. "I wasn't aware that this was my interrogation."

"A question for a question. I refuse to be interrogated alone." Isabel sipped more coffee, never once breaking eye contact as she feigned confidence and ease. On the outside, she seemed to have her shit together. Inside, she was screaming.

There was a pause. Fiona was reserved about her past. A girl who came from nothing and rose to greatness, but not on the cleanest of paths; it wasn't a story she wanted to share with everyone. Her life didn't truly start until she became the Supreme. Everything before that didn't matter. "I came to the academy as a young girl," she answered. "And became the youngest Supreme."

That was way more interesting than Fiona's parental situation. Isabel straightened up in her chair. "How did that happen?"

Hook, line, and sinker. "The Supreme at the time, Annaleigh Leighton, died and the Supremacy was passed onto me."

There was no sadness in Fiona's eyes as she spoke of Annaleigh Leighton. Isabel couldn't find it too hard to believe. How could Fiona be upset when it meant coming into power, something she clearly loved?

"What's the best thing about being the Supreme?"

Fiona tilted her head to the side as she pondered the question. She could answer it honestly: having so much control over everyone. "The traveling," she said instead.

"I like traveling, too." Not that Isabel had much of a choice, but it wasn't something she ever minded. Starting at new schools wasn't so difficult when her father was sort of famous. "Favorite trip you've been on?"

"England for a weekend with Stevie."

"Stevie…? Like… Nicks?" That was the only Stevie Isabel knew. No, that couldn't be right. When Fiona gave a coy, telling smile in response, her jaw nearly dropped. "Holy shit, you know Stevie Nicks?"

"Stevie and I go way back."

"Holy shit," Isabel repeated. No wonder Fiona liked being the Supreme. It wasn't just ruling over a coven. It was like being famous in Hollywood. "Cordelia made it seem like being the Supreme kinda sucked."

Fiona scoffed; of course Delia would do that. "She just doesn't understand. And quite frankly, my misguided daughter may be letting her jealousy affect her judgement."

"Jealousy?"

"Cordelia isn't strong enough to be the Supreme. She never was, never will be. She resents me and the Supremacy for it."

That was sad, and Isabel didn't know how to respond. She didn't think Cordelia talked poorly of the Supremacy because she could never be the Supreme, though it did make sense. Isabel assumed being the Supreme was like being the President of the United States: it was a lot of responsibility and could really suck sometimes, but at the end of the day it was a solid gig. Then again, she could be wrong. She had never been the President of the United States and couldn't exactly draw from experience.

"Could I ever be the Supreme?" Isabel asked. She assumed that she had a shot at it because of Mimi, but if Cordelia, the current Supreme's daughter, didn't have a chance then maybe she didn't either.

"No," Fiona lied. "The Supremacy is a rare thing. You being the only student at the academy doesn't make you special." She paused, reveling in the disheartened look in Isabel's eyes for a moment. Then she said, "But you do have a power. And I can work with that."

"''""""'"""'""

The car brought only Isabel back to the academy just in time for morning ritual.

"You were up early," Cordelia commented as Isabel walked into the ancestor room. "Where did you go?"

"Out to breakfast." Isabel left out meeting with Fiona, feeling like Cordelia wouldn't take too kindly to that. The tension between the mother and daughter was palpable and it wasn't something Isabel wanted to get involved in.

Cordelia closed her eyes and sighed. "Just be careful, Izzy. The world can be dangerous. Try and not go anywhere alone. Strength in numbers."

"Right, sorry." She didn't sound convincing.

Isabel's spine tingled, and the muscles in her lower back tensed. It was a familiar feeling: someone was there; someone unseen.

Cordelia's brow furrowed as she watched Isabel's posture change. "Are you alright?"

Isabel didn't answer at first. She was processing the feeling, trying to decide if this was real or just her mind playing tricks on her because of the loneliness. "Someone died here," she concluded. She had to trust her gut on this.

Cordelia grimaced, but she wasn't surprised by this revelation made by Isabel. "Yes well, unfortunately there have been a few deaths here over the years. Death is something that not even witches can pervade."

That may be true, but this was different. This was the feeling of the Murder House. This was a shift in balance.

Someone died here.

And they never left.


	5. Chapter 4

A special thanks for AFANAFAN and anonymouscsifan! Thank you both for your lovely reviews, and especially thanks for anonymouscsifan who has stuck with me through every attempt at a coven fic and is still reading; I don't know how you don't get bored of my bullshit, haha!

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CHAPTER FOUR

"Hey, you're not dead!" Derek cheered when Isabel answered his call.

"For a best-selling author, your word choices are terrible."

Isabel frowned as she heard a voice that wasn't her father's; a voice she hadn't heard in a while. "Is that Chad?" she asked. "Hang on, I'm gonna make it a video call." Isabel pulled her phone away from her ear and hit the button to transform the phone call into a video call. Her father's face filled the screen and behind him was Chad Warwick, the most stylish resident of the Murder House. "Chad, what are you?"

"Throwing out your father's wardrobe. Yours is next."

She couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Chad disappeared from view and Isabel was looking at Derek again.

"So how are things going?"

"Is Moira there?" Isabel asked, ignoring Derek's question. "I wanna say hi."

Derek pursed his lips. "Iz…" he started.

"And Tate."

"You're not even going to answer me?"

"I would have last week." But he never called, and never picked up his phone until now.

He sighed heavily. "I'm so, so sorry Iz. I was away; promotion thing Nancy wanted me to do―"

"Which you couldn't even be bothered to tell me about."

"I'm sorry," Derek repeated. What else could he say? He was sorry. "I'm not used to not having you here. I told the rest of the house―"

"And forgot I wasn't home." Isabel's bitterness was as sharp as a sacrificial dagger, slicing into Derek with every syllable. She let her words hang like a noose for ages before saying again, "Is Moira there?"

Without argument, Derek brought his cellphone to the kitchen where he found Moira, who looked surprised to see Isabel on the screen.

"Goodness, technology really is something, isn't it?" she chuckled, watching Derek leave the kitchen. When he was gone, she said, "You can't ignore him forever, you know."

"I won't, 'cause apparently he'll forget about me."

Moira rolled her eyes at Isabel's childishness. She couldn't actually believe Derek forgot her on purpose, could she? Derek wasn't being intentionally cruel. "Isabel, you have been by his side since you were three months old. He isn't used to you not being home. Now enough with this nonsense."

"He didn't have to send me here," Isabel muttered.

"Isabel," Moira said sharply. "You're upset with Constance, not your father. Stop taking out your frustrations on him." She smiled smugly when she heard Isabel mutter "fine" under her breath. "Good. Now, tell me everything. How are things?"

"Not bad. Kinda weird. There's a butler."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, but he can't talk."

"That's quite a strict household."

"No, like he physically can't. He doesn't have a tongue; I'm pretty sure he cut it off." When Isabel saw Moira's eyes widen in horror, she quickly added, "But don't worry, that was like, years ago."

It wasn't exactly comforting, but Moira pretended it was. "Well that's… how is everything else going?"

Isabel thought about this question, intending to answer it as honestly as possible. How were things going? She was the only student, she was incredibly lonely, and the headmistress was her only friend because there was no one else. How were things going? She was learning to control her powers, which was what she wanted. She was pretending to work on her other abilities, while secretly suppressing them and pretending she didn't have any other abilities. She was learning about her family. She had met the Supreme, who seemed to at least tolerate her.

How were things going?

"Not bad," Isabel answered. "I hate that I'm not home… but I don't hate that I'm here, if that makes any sense."

Moira smiled, relieved. "Yes, and I'm glad to hear it." She paused a moment, and then said, "Your mother wishes to talk to you."

"Nope."

"I figured just as much. She isn't here, but she's been stopping by more often in hopes of catching you on the phone with your father since you won't give her your number."

"Dad hasn't given it to her, has he?"

"No, no and he isn't going to."

"Good."

This was one relationship Moira knew she shouldn't try and heal. Derek and Isabel were one thing. Derek was Isabel's father. He was just doing what was best for her, and still loved her very much. Constance was an entirely different story. That woman was manipulative and controlling and a monster. Moira was the last person who would tell Isabel to try and form a relationship with her.

"Is Tate there?" Isabel asked, sounding hopeful.

"No," Moira answered, much to Isabel's disappointment. "He's still quite upset."

She should have figured. While Isabel blamed Derek and Constance for sending her away, Tate blamed everyone, Isabel included.

"'''"""""""""""

 _"You don't have to go," Tate insisted, watching Isabel zip up her suitcase._

 _"I wish I didn't have to either. But I don't have much of a choice." Isabel looked to Tate and could see the anger and sadness swirling in his eyes like hot and cold air; a tornado brewing in his mind. Isabel wasn't prepared to weather the storm._

 _"So, you're just gonna listen to that cocksucker?"_

 _Isabel flinched as Tate's demanding tone, his words slapping her. "It isn't just her. It's my dad, too." Disobeying Constance was one thing. But Derek? It wasn't as simple as Tate thought it was. She wasn't like Tate, who could easily disobey anyone. She actually had a good relationship with her father. Sort of. It was a bit rocky at the moment._

 _"So? Just run away or something!"_

 _Isabel scoffed. "It's not an easy fix, Tate. I can't run away. Even if I did, I can't take you with me." They would be having this argument regardless. It was what Tate really wanted: an escape. She could get away from their mother by going to this academy. Tate was still trapped._

 _"This is bullshit and you know it!" Tate slammed his fist against the wall. His anger covered his fear. He was absolutely petrified. Isabel's leaving meant he'd be alone again. The loneliness was the hardest to deal with._

 _"Well sorry. If I had a choice, I'd stay. You know I would. But I don't." Isabel tried keeping calm, but it was hard to control the wavering in her voice. Her brother was scary when he was upset._

 _Tate's fist hit the wall again, and then he stormed off, making a point to stomp away rather than just vanishing._

 _Drama queen._

"''"""""'""

"Can you tell him I said hi?"

Moira sighed. "I will," she relented.

Moira wasn't the biggest fan of Isabel's friendship with Tate. He was a murderous psychopath; a school shooter who killed without remorse. And Moira liked Isabel; she'd hate to see her fall victim to his tendencies. It was a difficult situation. Them being friends was one thing. The fact that they were half siblings who could bond over their dislike towards their mother created some complications.

"Thanks, Moira."

"You're welcome. Do you need anything? I can send you a care package."

Isabel smiled. Thank god for Moira. "I'm all set, thanks. I'll let you know if I do."

"Promise you will."

"Promise. Talk soon." Isabel ended the call and sighed heavily, releasing every molecule of air in her body.

She needed to bake. It was something she hadn't done since her birthday a few weeks ago when she made her own birthday cake. Baking was relaxing and the perfect distraction, one that usually ended in brownies or muffins.

Isabel stood from her bed and as she did, that sensation of company creeped up on her and perched on her shoulders.

Isabel didn't turn around to see if anyone was behind her, knowing that was dumb. Instead, she stood perfectly still as if waiting for a butterfly to land on her. Would there suddenly be the weight of a hand on her shoulder? Would she hear a voice?

Nothing happened.

Still wary, Isabel left the room. The Axeman watched her go.

As Isabel neared the kitchen, she heard the sound of a cupboard being shut. "Cordelia?" she called out before walking into the kitchen and seeing someone who was clearly not the headmistress. "Um, hello?"

Hank put down the water pitcher and turned to look at Isabel. "Hey, you must be the new girl." He stepped closer and held a hand out to her. "Name's Hank. I'm Cordelia's husband."


	6. Chapter 5

Again, special thanks to AFANAFAN who has been so kind and supportive of my work!

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

"Focus, but don't strain yourself," Cordelia instructed as she watched Isabel concentrate on the pen in front of her.

The greenhouse was ideal for practicing magic. It was warm, but not overbearingly humid and seemed to be its world. It was easy to forget that there was an academy attached it, which Cordelia had worked hard to do. This place was her safe haven from Miss Robichaux's despite it still technically being part of the academy. Cordelia preferred teaching here. She also noticed that Isabel always did much better in her lessons when they were conducted in the greenhouse.

Except for today.

Isabel's face scrunched up in discomfort. Telekinesis was proving to be a lot more difficult than she and Cordelia initially thought it would be. "Can we take a break?" she asked, rubbing her forehead. "The only thing I've managed to summon is a headache."

"Of course. Actually, we can take this chance for me to teach you a potion to relieve headaches."

"Because just taking an Advil's too easy?"

"Because a witch should know how to take care of herself," Cordelia responded, walking over to a cabinet and pulling out beakers.

"I do know how to take care of myself," Isabel said, "by opening a bottle of Advil." She watched Cordelia continue to gather everything to create an all-natural pain killer. "Okay, I'm all for mixing and making things… but I have a better idea. Something a little more useful than homemade ibuprofen."

"And just what would that be?"

Brownies. It was brownies. Cordelia should have suspected as much, but she was still surprised. Pleasantly, of course. She would never complain about brownies.

The kitchen smelled heavenly, chocolate chips melting away in a saucepan as Isabel cracked eggs over a bowl. "It's the same thing as potion making," she insisted. "Though I gotta say, I prefer the results from baking than potion making."

Cordelia chuckled, shaking her head. "In all honesty, I could say the same." She walked over to the saucepan and stirred the melting chocolate. "I can't remember the last time I had brownies made from scratch."

"I'm guessing Fiona never did anything like this for you."

"You've met her; you tell me."

It was a harsh truth, but Isabel still laughed. She laughed because of how true it was. Isabel wasn't Fiona's best friend or anything, but even just having breakfast with her that one time, Isabel knew Fiona wasn't the type.

"My mother bakes." Isabel stirred the eggs into the flour and cocoa powder. Her shoulders sagged as she thought of her birth mother; the woman she never had any interested in meeting who now controlled her life. "No," Isabel suddenly said, shaking her head to get rid of those thoughts. "Sorry, I don't want to talk about her."

Now that was something Cordelia could relate to. Talking about Fiona was Cordelia's least favorite thing to do. Unfortunately, Fiona was often a topic of conversation, especially between her and the Council. "Fair enough," she said, taking a swipe of chocolate from the wooden spoon onto her finger and giving it a taste. "Let's talk about your powers instead, seeing as I'm still technically supposed to be teaching you."

"Actually, I did have a question about magic."

"Ask away."

"Descensum," Isabel started as she took the saucepan and poured the melted chocolate into the brownie batter so that the end result would be extra chocolatey. "Can it make someone more sensitive to like, ghosts?"

Cordelia pursed her lips in thought. It wasn't something she had really considered before. It made sense, though. "Those who perform Descensum are more in touch with death. Being more perceptive to spirits would certainly go along with that, but there haven't been any cases reported showing causation with spirit sensitivity and being successful with Descensum."

"So…?"

"So, perhaps it's another ability of yours. A witch's abilities don't show up all at once. Some can remain hidden for years."

"And what does a new one appearing mean?"

"It means you're growing stronger."

Isabel didn't particularly care about growing stronger. To Cordelia, it was probably a big deal. But it meant nothing to Isabel. What did matter to her was having this ability. There really was someone in the academy. She wasn't crazy; she was perceptive. Was it like being a medium? Could witches be mediums?

The brownie batter was all mixed, and Isabel poured it into a pan before putting it into the oven. When she opened the oven, she was met with a blast of hot air that was immediately replaced by a spine-tingling chill.

Isabel straightened up so quickly that her spine gave a little _pop!_

"What's wrong?" Cordelia asked, stepping close to Isabel and putting a hand on her shoulder. "Do you sense something?"

"No," Isabel lied. "The oven, it was hotter than I expected."

She didn't want to admit to anything yet. She didn't want to tell Cordelia that there was a presence in the academy without first knowing what the presence was exactly. Despite the assurance that this was an ability of hers, Isabel didn't feel like Cordelia would believe her without any evidence.

And there was an unfortunate sense of nostalgia that came with this secret knowledge of a ghost in the house. When she and her father had moved into a haunted house in Los Angeles, Isabel had kept the house's secret for weeks. It had been a burden, but also thrilling to have that knowledge while her father didn't.

Would she really not say anything for nostalgia's sake?

"These'll be done in like twenty minutes," Isabel told Cordelia as she grabbed the timer off of the counter and wound it back for that amount of time.

"Would you like some tea in the meantime?" Cordelia offered as she fetched the kettle from the cabinet beside the stovetop.

She really didn't. Isabel didn't even want to pay attention to the brownies. Her attention was still on the feeling of being watched. Instead, she smiled and said, "Sure."

Whoever was here, she would talk to them later.

Later arrived in the evening after lessons were done and Cordelia retired to her office to do paperwork, though Isabel couldn't imagine she had much to do; it wasn't like this place was flooded with students.

She sat in the ancestor room, but her attention wasn't on Mimi's portrait. Instead, she was focused on the floor. There were no fancy candles, no fire crackling in the fireplace to cast an eerie glow; just a witch staring at the floor, silently willing the presence in the house to make itself known.

So far, it was very anticlimactic.

Isabel knew she would look stupid if she tried calling out, asking if anyone was there. No one would answer because no one was there yet; she was alone.

Her muscles tensed, and her breath caught in her throat. Someone was there.

"What's your name?" Isabel asked.

"Don't tell me you forgot it already."

Despite expecting an answer, Isabel still jumped in surprise. She faced Cordelia's husband. Not a ghost, but a living and breathing person.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he laughed, walking over to the couch and sitting next to Isabel. "Did I interrupt a ritual or something?"

"No," Isabel assured him. "I was just… I don't know, never mind. Forget I said anything." She grinned, fidgeting in her seat awkwardly. God she was dumb! How the hell did she confuse the feeling of a spirit's presence with the presence of Hank?

"Delia tells me that your powers might be growing. That's pretty cool."

Isabel shrugged. "I guess? I mean, I don't know if they're actually growing." Especially after that little incident. Maybe she really was crazy. "I'll be honest, I don't care if they are or not. I'm not really into the whole magic thing."

Hank frowned faintly, his head cocking to the side. The only student at the academy and she didn't want to learn magic. "Why are you even here then?"

"Long story." She wasn't exactly in the mood to go into her whole family history with Hank. Talking about it with Cordelia was one thing. Hank was still more of a stranger than anything. "But basically I'm just here to learn how to control my powers." She wanted to cringe at those words. Why did it feel like she was in a guilty pleasure nineties supernatural movie? As the adopted daughter of a famous author, her life had never been normal but surely it wasn't asking too much to at least be human?

There was a pause. Hank read her like she was one of her father's books: a bit tricky at first but everything falling into place at the end. "You get used to it. This whole magic thing? Yeah, it's weird. But only at first. I mean, I thought it was weird when Cordelia first told me. And then learning that her mother is the Supreme? It's uh… yeah, it's weird. I promise, it gets less weird."

It was the first ounce of reassurance Isabel received that actually meant something. Isabel took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing. "Thank you."


	7. Chapter 6

Thanks to everyone who has read this! Your support means the world to me! I might be doing a crossover story with The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, so keep an eye out for that!

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

It wasn't terribly late, but Isabel was exhausted. The lessons had been particularly difficult. While Cordelia had Isabel stick to potion making, there was a lot of energy that went into potions; more energy than Isabel expected.

She walked back to her room from the bathroom, her mouth tasting minty fresh. The bed never looked more comfortable. As soon as she peeled back the duvet, there was a soft knock on her door.

Frowning, Isabel walked over and opened the door. Spalding stood with a garment bag and little slip of paper in hand. He held the paper out to Isabel, who took it from him.

"Fiona?" she asked after reading the slip of paper.

Spalding gave a deep nod and then held out the garment back. Isabel also took this with a mumbled and confused, "Thanks."

He left and Isabel shut the door slowly. She lay the garment bag on her bed, staring at it.

It was just a garment bag; nothing to be afraid of. Yet she didn't unzip it. What if there was a deadly snake waiting to attack her and kill her with a venomous bite? Fiona wouldn't do that though; she wouldn't kill a fellow witch.

Would she?

Oh this was ridiculous! Annoyed with her own bullshit, Isabel took a deep breath and held it as she unzipped the garment bag.

There was no snake, and Isabel released the breath she held, her chest relaxing and her stress leaving with the breath. Instead of a snake, she found a dress. Nothing too fancy; not a ball gown or an evening dress. It was a simple plum, off the shoulder cocktail dress, no lace and no frills. It was classy, which Isabel wasn't surprised about at all. Classy was Fiona's style, after all.

It seemed she wasn't going to be able to go to bed. Maybe whatever Fiona had planned wouldn't take too long.

With tired movements, Isabel put on the dress and did her makeup. She didn't even want to bother, but she was meant to look good. Put together, Isabel headed downstairs to meet the car that would take her wherever Fiona wanted to meet her, leaving behind the note that read "Make yourself presentable" in Fiona's handwriting.

She didn't ask the driver where they were going. She just watched the lights of New Orleans pass by until the car pulled up to a bar.

Inside was a cozy place, and not overcrowded, though there were plenty of bodies making the air warm. A jazz band played in the corner furthest from the door, a group of people dancing as if this was the hottest club in New York City.

Fiona wasn't hard to spot, even when sitting at the bar, hidden behind a few wanderers. She radiated power and sex. Isabel could've picked her out of a group of ten thousand.

"Well, this certainly wasn't what I was expecting," Isabel said as she took the seat beside Fiona.

"And just what were you expecting?"

"Honestly, a candlelit dinner at the most exclusive restaurant; so exclusive that hardly anyone even knows that it exists."

Fiona tutted, shaking her head. "Authors and their imaginations." Before Isabel could say she wasn't the one who was the writer of the family, Fiona continued on, "What's your poison?"

"Arsenic administered over a long period of time."

"You're getting a martini."

Isabel thought Fiona was just joking, but she quickly saw that Fiona was serious when she waved the bartender over and ordered two martinis.

"Wait," she started when the bartender stepped away to make the drinks, "I'm only seventeen. He won't actually serve me, will he?"

"He will if I tell him to," Fiona replied flippantly.

Isabel raised her eyebrows. "I guess you really are in charge everywhere." She thought that Fiona was just being overdramatic when she first said that. Sure, the Supreme had power, but to be in charge everywhere? Isabel had her doubts until that moment.

Fiona smirked. She did revel in her power, but there were no illusions about her abilities. She wasn't in charge everywhere because her name was Fiona Goode. It wasn't because of the title of Supreme. "Any witch can be in charge if she's strong enough." She put a finger to her temple and winked.

"Concilium," Isabel said, the pieces clicking together. She should have suspected as much. "It'll be a while before I can do that."

"Have you tried?" Fiona asked, knowing that she hadn't. Concilium was something that darling Delia wasn't keen on teaching. Mind control was wicked in Cordelia's eyes. Fiona, on the other hand, found it to be very useful.

"No," Isabel replied, confirming Fiona's suspicion. "But I can't even do telekinesis yet; Concilium is a long way away."

"But you can do Descensum," Fiona reminded her. "Powers don't develop in order. Why should a witch care about telekinesis when she's in touch with death?" A witch should care; mastering both meant the supremacy, but Fiona wasn't quite ready to dangle that in front of Isabel. It seemed Isabel was starting to pick up on Delia's feelings towards the supremacy anyway, and didn't find it appealing.

"Why should a witch care about Concilium if she's in touch with death?"

"Because Concilium puts you in touch with the living," Fiona replied. She turned her attention to the bartender as he approached them with their martinis and without a word, she released her control on him.

He blinked a few times, and handed Fiona one of the drinks before looking to Isabel as if noticing her for the first time. "You sure you're old enough for this?"

Isabel looked to Fiona for help, but Fiona sipped her drink. It looked like she wasn't paying attention; she wasn't about to give Isabel a way out. If she wanted the drink, then she would have to get it herself. Cordelia always talked about focus and intent, but never about desire.

Desire was the strongest magic there was.

"Yes, I'm sure," Isabel told the bartender.

"Can I see some ID?" he asked, still holding onto the drink.

It wasn't about how badly she wanted it. She didn't need the martini; she could live without the drink. But did she want it? What she wanted was to prove that she could do it. She wanted Fiona's approval.

She wanted that drink.

"I'd like my drink, please," she said firmly, and the bartender gave it to her without argument.

Fiona stiffened as she watched the exchange. That was too easy. She expected Isabel to struggle, or to completely fail. Instead, here she was with a drink in hand and she didn't even break a sweat. Fiona lifted her glass to Isabel before swallowing her concern with a mouthful of gin and vermouth.

Isabel was as surprised as Fiona, but it was more apparent on her face. She couldn't believe it actually worked! "Cordelia told me my powers were growing. I guess she was right."

"I guess so." Fiona finished off her martini in two gulps. A witch could accumulate powers without being the next Supreme. But two of the Seven Wonders?

No, she wouldn't believe that her time was already up. She was feeling fine. In fact, she had never been better. Fiona wasn't ready to be replaced, and certainly not by someone like Isabel, who didn't even appreciate magic.

It was truth: Isabel didn't appreciate magic as much as she should. Though with this drink in hand, she was starting to like it a little bit more. She sipped the martini, and her lips puckered. She knew that martinis weren't typically sweet, but the bitterness was still unexpected. "Oh god," she sputtered, setting the drink down. A few seconds later, she picked it back up and took another sip, and another, and another. It wasn't good, but it was intriguing, not to mention much stronger than she realized.

Much, much stronger.

Jazz sounded sweeter when her head was swimming, and Isabel swayed to the music as she finished her third martini.

"God, this is so much fun," she slurred. "You know, this is good. Like, bonding."

"You're drunk," Fiona remarked as she sipped her second drink. She was taking it easy. While her body begged her to just down a bottle of vodka, she refused to give up control. She would not succumb to any alcohol or any witch.

"You're mad at me." Isabel pouted. In her mind, she registered that Fiona was just deep in thought, but there was a disconnection between her brain and her mouth. While her thoughts were still reasonable and clear, they came out jumbled when she tried articulating them.

Fiona looked to the drunk girl. Should she really be worried about losing the supremacy to her? Maybe she didn't need to.

"No," Fiona assured Isabel, brushing tucking a lock of brown hair behind Isabel's ear. "I'm not." She let her fingertips ghost Isabel's jawline. Getting rid of someone was easy. It was even easier if they had complete trust. Desire was the strongest magic there was, and Fiona needed this girl under her spell.


	8. Chapter 7

Thank you for the kind reviews!

This week I'm rather busy, so the next update may take a little longer, but I've decided to make this story my NaNo project so I after this week, this will be my primary writing focus. And again, I might do a story that's a crossover with Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, so if anyone is interested please let me know!

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN

Coffee had never tasted so heavenly. The caffeine zipped through her bloodstream, urging all of Isabel's senses to wake up. She held the mug with two hands in a desperate attempt to absorb as much of the warmth as she could so that her bones could stop aching.

She didn't make any progress in terms of her magic since that night at the bar. She didn't know why; it was like she had some sort of mental block. On top of that, she hadn't been able to sleep since the bar, and it was beginning to show. Two weeks of restless nights turned the purple bags under her eyes into full luggage sets. Her skin was discolored. Every move she made was slow, conserving as much energy as possible.

Isabel didn't remember much of that night at the bar; her head had been swimming too much from the alcohol. Fiona's driver brought her back to the academy; that much she remembered. She also hadn't seen Fiona since then. That wasn't the worst part of it all, though.

The worst part was that Fiona plagued her dreams, both wonderful and horrific in nature. Sometimes, it would be the most romantic moments with sweet words and touches. The rest of the time, there was bloodshed with Isabel begging for her life. Either way, she wasn't able to sleep.

How could a woman be so infectious?

She didn't know why she was so fascinated by Fiona. It wasn't like she was gay. She wasn't; she couldn't be! But this woman had gotten into her head and intrigued her to no end. She didn't want Fiona; she wanted to sleep.

Isabel downed her coffee and poured more. She would probably be vibrating from being overly caffeinated by the time afternoon rolled around. It wasn't like she would be able to take a nap, though, not without a struggle.

"You look dreadful," Fiona remarked as she sauntered into the kitchen.

"And you manage to look incredibly put together for five in the morning." Of fucking course she did. Isabel shook her head, sipping her coffee slowly this time. "So what brings you here so early?"

"My flight leaves soon; this was my only chance to give farewells."

"And you knew I'd be awake because you're Fiona Goode, and you know everything," Isabel teased. "So where are you going?"

Fiona smirked. "Nowhere special. Besides, it isn't like you can come with me, yet."

"Yet?" Isabel echoed. Her fluttered at this flimsy promise of adventure. She very much liked the idea of being whisked away from this place, if only for a little bit. It was a charming idea, and made her heart ache at the memory of traveling alongside her father; seeing new places and experiencing the world.

The she perked up at the prospect of travel was amusing. Fiona would go as far as saying it was cute, even. Instead of answering Isabel directly, she gave a mysterious smile that promised more than what she would ever give. "I must be off."

"When will you be back?"

Fiona laughed lightly. She already had Isabel wrapped around her finger, and all it had taken was one night at a bar and a few drinks. The teenaged heart was so malleable; she didn't even have to cast a spell.

She neared Isabel, placing a finger under her chin and raising it. She could feel Isabel's breath catch in her throat. "You really ought to get some sleep." She pulled away and left the kitchen.

Isabel was frozen to the spot. She couldn't even blink. It wasn't until the click of the front door close that she pulled herself together.

Sleep, yes, that was… yes, she needed that. There had to be a potion or something she could take that would be stronger than melatonin; something to block out dreams.

Muttering a variety of swear words to herself, Isabel left the kitchen and went out into the greenhouse. Concocting potions was like baking, right? Maybe a tad more like chemistry, but it was all the same idea: mixing things together to create a new thing. How hard could it be?

Very hard, apparently. Isabel found a potion that she was sure would help, but making it was turning out to be more difficult than she initially planned, especially with being sleep deprived.

Cordelia went to knock on Isabel's door, opening it when she didn't get a response. She expected to find Isabel fast asleep in bed, but instead she found her missing. Confused, Cordelia looked for her in the kitchen. Isabel wasn't there either though, and for a moment, Cordelia began to worry until she checked the last place she expected to find Isabel on her own: the greenhouse.

Isabel was concentrating very hard, poring over a recipe for some potion, and didn't even notice Cordelia was there, which was why she jumped when Cordelia suddenly spoke.

"Would you like some help?" Cordelia asked.

"Please," Isabel sighed. She thought she could do this on her own, but she realized that she actually had no idea what she was doing.

Cordelia stepped forward and looked over the recipe; a sleeping draught. It was definitely a potion that was far too advanced for Isabel to be doing on her own. The wrong dosage could mean a coma for years. But Cordelia didn't reprimand her, not wanting to discourage Isabel as this was the first time she had seen the young student take initiative with magic.

"Alright, let's start from the beginning." Cordelia waved her hand, making whatever Isabel had concocted evaporate. She turned her attention back to the recipe, and began instructing Isabel on what ingredients she needed to fetch.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" It was Hank, who was, in fact, interrupting. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. He wore a jacket, and held a travel mug in his hand. It was time to go on yet another business trip. "Just wanted to say bye before I left."

Cordelia walked over to Hank, giving him a quick kiss. "Do you know when you'll be back?"

"Shouldn't take more than a few days," he promised. "Don't go have too much fun without me." He gave Cordelia another kiss before leaving the greenhouse.

Isabel waited until she was sure Hank was completely out of earshot before asking, "What does he do on those business trips anyway?"

"I don't know the details. It never really interested me much," Cordelia admitted. She was supportive of her husband, of course. But he tried describing a conference he went to one time, it sounded like the most dreadfully boring thing in the world. "Let's finish this up, shall we?

"''""""'''"""

The potion was sealed in a vial. When it was time for bed, Isabel would just need to be a few drops into a cup of tea and she would be off on a dreamless sleep. In the meantime, she tried relaxing as much as she could.

She was curled up on the couch in the ancestor room, in the middle of _The Matinee Massacre_. Though she had read her father's book a million times, it was still her go-to. She would never tire of the twisted tale about Dandy Mott, who murdered an entire freak show in Jupiter, Florida. The thought did make her a little sick to her stomach considering the Motts were distant relatives of the Noble family, but there was something intriguing about it all. What could possibly drive someone to commit mass murder?

"Ah literature, food for the soul." Myrtle Snow glided into the ancestor room, looking at the title of Isabel's book. "Your father's; one of his best I believe."

"You've read it?"

"Of course. Sometimes one must indulge in the world of madness lest they go mad themselves. Speaking of mad, you look like you've spent a few nights in an asylum."

Isabel closed her book, sitting up a little. "Haven't been able to sleep. Dreams and whatnot. But Cordelia helped me take care of it."

"Ah darling Delia, a blessing to this coven. I can't say the same about her mother," Myrtle sighed. "I suppose it's a good thing she's gone. A Supreme should not leave her coven alone, but in Fiona's case it's for the best."

Gone?

"What do you mean gone? I thought she just went on like a vacation or something."

Myrtle chuckled, shaking her head. "The last time she went on a vacation, she didn't come back for a year and a half."

"That long?"

"Oh don't be shocked, dear. Fiona is notorious for flying the coop and shirking her responsibilities, leaving you chickies alone." She tutted. "Such a shame, really. This coven deserves a Supreme who acts like one, not someone who only bears the title."

"Shame," Isabel repeated. She pursed her lips, annoyed to say the least. How could Fiona leave? How could Fiona abandon her like that?

No, she couldn't let herself think that. It was never about her, and she needed to realize that. She picked at the corner of her book cover.

"Well at least now Cordelia will be able to instruct you without any distractions."

"Yeah…"

Except now Isabel seemed more distracted than ever.

"Sorry," she muttered in half-hearted apology as she stood from the couch. Isabel made a beeline for her room. She shut the door and then flopped on her bed. God she hated emotions.

After letting herself wallow for two minutes, Isabel sat up. She looked across the room to see her reflection in the full length mirror. But there was a troubling sight: a man with salt-and-pepper hair was standing next to her.

"She's gone again, huh?" he said.

Isabel turned her head so fast that there was a crack, but there was no one next to her. She checked the reflection, and the man was gone.

"What the actual fuck," Isabel muttered to herself. She stood from the bed and walked over to the mirror.

The Axeman watched her with a curious tilt of his head. She couldn't see him, but she could clearly feel him. "You've got a thing for the dead, don't you, Little Witch?" he murmured.

"I know you're still here," Isabel stated. "You don't have to hide. It's alright."

The Axeman chuckled. Did she realize how ridiculous she sounded? He wasn't hiding from fear. He was merely keeping himself out of sight. Personal reasons, and such. He walked over to her bureau and turned the portable record player on, and the Elsa Mars vinyl that was already set up played.

Isabel watched the record player and raised an eyebrow. "Right… well, just don't watch me get dressed. Deal?"


	9. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Time passing was very noticeable at first. Isabel could easily count how many days it had been since she last saw Fiona. The seasons changed as those weeks turned into months, and Isabel lost track, no longer counting. She came to terms that Fiona wasn't coming back for a while around the four month mark.

The holidays came and went; the New Year rolled in without much notice. The first third of 2012 was proving to be uneventful.

Despite not being quite so interested in magic, Isabel did enjoy the history behind witchcraft; the true history, not what was taught in schools during the Salem Witch Trial unit in social studies. As she studied the true history, certain celebrations now seemed pointless to her. Besides, there was only one holiday of the year she cared about: the one night of the year where the dead could walk amongst the living.

Despite throwing herself into her research, Isabel couldn't help but feel rather isolated. Cordelia was rather strict about leaving the academy alone, always saying that witches had strength in numbers. Isabel understood the concern. She was the only student and it would suck if she was killed by witch hunters. That didn't stop the loneliness.

At least she had her ghost friend…. Sort of. He didn't talk much.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Hank told Cordelia, leaning against her desk as she paced her office nervously.

"I know, I know. This is a school; I shouldn't be worried about having more than one student."

"Then why are you worried?"

"Because―" Cordelia hesitated. She didn't want to say it out loud. Would it sound too weird? "I liked the dynamic," she finished, choosing her words carefully.

Despite Cordelia being cautious with her word choice, Hank knew what she really meant. "You liked having a family dynamic." Cordelia stopped pacing, wearing a guilty look. Hank chuckled, pushing himself away from the desk. "It's not a bad thing," he assured her. "A new student just means we'll have two kids instead of just one."

Cordelia scrunched up her nose at the sound of that. God, how could she think something that made her cringe so much? "No, I'm their headmistress. That isn't… I can't think like that." She could care for her girls, certainly. But getting that attached? No, it wasn't appropriate.

"Well, then maybe it just means we start a family of our own."

That was an idea that certainly didn't make her cringe. "I suppose it does mean that," she said with a small, excited smile.

"Hello!" a voice called out from the foyer.

Cordelia straightened up immediately. The new student was here.

""''"""'"""''"

This was weird. Isabel was used to meeting new people because she moved schools so often due to her father's work, but meeting another witch was weird. Not that Nan was weird. Nan was very nice, and Isabel liked her and all, but this felt weird. Cordelia had left the two of them alone to get acquainted, and Isabel really wished she hadn't.

"So… what's your power?" Isabel asked. Was she allowed to ask that? Was that okay? Or was that like asking a prisoner what they were in for?

"I'm clairvoyant," Nan answered.

Isabel perked up at this information. "Clairvoyant?"

Nan nodded. "You think I'm like your mother," she said, picking up on Isabel's train of thought.

"She's clairvoyant, too. Always at the right place and right time."

"I'm a little different. It seems like she was more in touch with the future. I sort of am, but I'm more about reading minds."

Isabel chuckled nervously. Great, she was going to have to be super careful around this one. It wasn't like Isabel would purposely think anything bad, but the idea of someone being inside her head made her want to curl up in on herself and die.

"I don't do it on purpose," Nan assured Isabel. "I try hard not to. It's not like I enjoy having a million voices in my head. Don't worry, your secrets are safe with me."

That wasn't exactly comforting, but Isabel really didn't have a choice except to take Nan's word for it. She didn't think mind reading was something she'd ever have to deal with. She thought clairvoyance only meant being able to predict the future, or at least have a sense of what was to come. Then again, her only experience was with her birth mother.

"It's okay to miss her, you know," Nan said.

"What?"

"Your mom."

Isabel bit down on her tongue for a moment. "You just said―"

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Nan promised. "But I can't help hearing people. Headphones help."

"I don't miss her."

And Nan didn't believe her, Isabel could tell. But it didn't matter. She was adamant about that fact that she did not miss her birth mother whatsoever. Constance had no part of her life except for sending her to this academy.

"'"""'""""'"""

"She seems nice."

It was late at night. Dinner wasn't as awkward as Isabel thought it would be, though she was glad to be alone in her room.

Well, not completely alone.

She had come back to find an old jazz record sitting on her bed. It now spun around and around on her record player, filling the room with "Someday Sweetheart."

She still couldn't see her new companion, but she could feel him. It was still a little odd, but also comforting. It felt like home.

"The whole clairvoyant thing is still kinda freaky. She says she won't tell anyone anything but like, she can still read my thoughts. There's gotta be something to protect against that, right?"

No reply.

"I gotta say, a one-sided friendship is very boring."

Did she honestly consider it a friendship?

"You ought to get better friends, then," the Axeman said, standing in the corner of the bedroom.

Isabel stared at him, eyes so wide that they nearly fell out of her head. "Holy shit."

"Ain't nothing holy about me, Little Witch."

He took a step forward, all shadows disappearing from his face. Isabel studied his features, from his salt-and-pepper hair all the way down to the blade of his ax.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked, sounding much calmer than she felt.

"And risk you being stuck here with me for all eternity? Not a chance in hell," he answered with a grin.

"Why now?"

The Axeman lifted his weapon of choice and studied the sharp edge. "She's gone, and I've grown bored."

"Fiona." Isabel chewed her lower lip in thought. Despite just having been told that she wasn't going to die, she still couldn't help but feel ill at ease, especially while watching him stare at the ax like it was some gorgeous woman at a bar. "So what's your name?"

He smirked, lowering the ax much to Isabel's relief. "I go by many names. But to you, I'm Joe."

Isabel wanted to laugh, she really did. This threatening being standing before her was just Joe. Her laughter was more out of discomfort than finding actual humor in the situation, though. "Well, Joe," she said slowly. "Does this mean we're friends now?"

"No."

"Fair enough."


	10. Chapter 9

Thank you to everyone who has been so supportive of this piece!

CHAPTER NINE

Halloween of 2012 snuck up on Isabel like a masterful spy. It was two weeks out, and she had a job to do: convince Cordelia to let her go home. So far, her attempts were proving to be frustratingly unsuccessful.

"Come on Cordelia, it's a holiday!"

"It's only Halloween."

"Yeah, but Halloween is like, super important to witch culture, isn't it?"

"All the more reason for you to stay here," Cordelia replied. She was adamant about this. Any amount of pleading on Isabel's end would be futile. It just wasn't safe for a witch to travel alone. Witches were strongest in a group; she couldn't let Isabel go off alone all the way back to Los Angeles! Though Isabel had taken a liking to studying, she still wasn't practicing her magic as often as she should. She would have no way of properly defending herself if she was to come across a witch hunter. As headmistress, it was Cordelia's job to protect the coven (seeing as their Supreme wasn't around).

But Isabel couldn't see that. She just saw that an important day was coming up that she needed to be home for. Isabel rolled her eyes. It wasn't that she didn't understand Cordelia's logic. It was that she didn't _want_ to understand. She wasn't leaving the academy forever! She was just going for a week at the most. Why couldn't she go home for a week? Hell, she'd be happy if it was only for one day!

"Please Cordelia, I need to be home for Halloween."

"And I need you here, where I know you'll be safe. That is final."

It wasn't final, though. Isabel wouldn't allow that. Cordelia needed to understand that it wasn't a matter of her being homesick. But at the moment, Isabel was frustrated, and there was no way she would be able to explain clearly why she needed to be home. Isabel huffed and stormed up the stairs to her room, slamming the door behind her.

"That temper will be the death of you one day, Little Witch," Joe tutted.

"I don't have a temper," Isabel snapped. She released the breath she didn't realize she was holding in, her chest and shoulders relaxing. "I'm just frustrated. I need to go home and Cordelia isn't letting me!"

"So make her."

Isabel's brow furrowed. She knew what he meant, but still she asked, "What?"

"Make her let you go home."

She hated that for a split second, she considered it. Make Cordelia let her go home. It sounded so simple. "No, I can't do that. She's my teacher; she's the headmistress."

"And you're a witch." Joe leaned against the wall, folding his arms against his chest. "But if you aren't up for using her powers, I have no problem trying to convince her myself."

"No," Isabel said quickly. "Don't you dare."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. Damn witches always sticking together. No sense of self. Fiona was independent; stronger alone. That was part of her charm. She wasn't pathetic like the rest of them.

"I'll figure it out. I'll… I'll call the Council. No, that's stupid." Call the Council because she wanted to go home? God, she sounded like a whiny brat.

At a loss, Isabel flopped onto her bed. She was annoyed with this situation and with herself. Going home was important, couldn't Cordelia see that? Then again, Isabel had been rather vague with her reasoning. Perhaps she ought to just say the truth: the Halloween was the one night of the year that the ghosts trapped in her house were allowed to roam free.

There was a knock at the door. Isabel lifted her head to find Joe vanished, so she stood up and opened the door.

Nan stood on the other side, holding a mug that spouted steam, which she held out to Isabel. "I can hear your frustration."

"My thoughts too loud?"

"No, you were kind of yelling."

"Oh."

Isabel took the mug. Just holding it was enough to relax her as the warmth spread from her fingertips to the rest of her body. She took a cautious sip, and pulled the cup away from her lips with a small frown. "Hot chocolate with cinnamon?"

Nan gave a sheepish, apologetic smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean― the thought just sort of came into my head."

"No, no it's okay." Isabel took another sip. "Thanks."

The last time she had hot chocolate with cinnamon, her birth mother had made it for her. That was before Isabel knew Constance Langdon was her birth mother. It was a simpler time then. Isabel missed it.

She missed when it was just her and Derek. He was the only family she had, and the only family she needed. He took care of her; loved her like her birth parents never did and never could.

"So who were you talking to?" Nan asked. "You were talking to someone, but I only picked up on your thoughts."

"Because I was talking to myself," Isabel said quickly, the excuse rolling off her tongue with ease. It was an excuse she was familiar with; one she gave back when she thought she was the only one who knew her home was haunted. She was no stranger to ghosts and no stranger to lying about them. Though the lying part became tricky when the person she was lying to happened to be clairvoyant and could read minds. Isabel tried keeping her thoughts concealed, though she wasn't quite sure how. Should she even bother?

Nan was suspicious. But she was trying not to use her powers for selfish purposes. Besides, what did it matter to her if Isabel was talking to herself or not? "Alright. Well, enjoy the hot chocolate."

"Thanks." Isabel was about to disappear back into her room, but just as Nan turned to leave, she said, "Hold on a sec! What do you think the odds are that I convince Cordelia to let me go home for Halloween?"

Nan raised her eyebrows. "It's easier than you think," she said matter-of-factly. "But you're not being honest with her. Tell her why you need to go home."

"It isn't exactly something I like to brag about."

"Why shouldn't you? It'll help, trust me."

How could Isabel not trust Nan's judgement when Nan had this remarkable ability? Of course, it did make her feel rather bad for not being completely honest with Nan and then go on to exploit her talent. But this was something Isabel needed to be selfish about.

Resolved, Isabel left her room to find Cordelia in the greenhouse.

"Delia?"

Cordelia looked up from her work, glasses perched on the end of her nose and blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail. "Isabel," she said, straightening her back. "I'm um, well, I'm sorry about earlier. I was being rather aggressive."

"It's okay," Isabel said quickly. "I was being kind of an asshole too. But I do need to go home. There's this whole thing with where I live. Halloween is the only day of the year when the ghosts―"

"Ghosts?" Cordelia interrupted. "You're saying there are ghosts in your house?"

Isabel nodded.

"And Halloween is the one day of the year that they can leave the house," Cordelia finished, now understanding. She sighed, taking off her glasses. She really was not fond of the idea of Isabel leaving the academy and going off on her own.

"My brother died in the house," Isabel started. "Well, half-brother. But yeah, Halloween is the only time of the year where we can go out and do stuff together." She didn't particularly like admitting this, but Nan said it would help.

Cordelia pursed her lips. "Fine."

Isabel raised her eyebrows. She really didn't expect Cordelia to agree. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really. Go home for a few days. But please, for the love of god, be careful. Take care of yourself. Watch out for witch hunters."

"I will! Thank you!" Isabel lunged forward, hugging Cordelia tightly before running off to call her dad and start packing.

"I take it she gave you the go-ahead," Joe remarked as he watched Isabel drag her suitcase from out beneath her bed.

"Yeah!" She still could hardly believe it. Nan was right, it worked! Isabel was beyond pleased. She stopped what she was doing suddenly to look at Joe, head cocked to the side. "What about you?" she asked. "Can you leave on Halloween?"

Joe chuckled mirthlessly. "The damn witches who killed me made sure I could never set foot outside of this place." Even when the veil between life and death was thinned, he was trapped in this hell on earth.

Isabel frowned. At first it seemed impossible, but she supposed it did make sense if the magic spell binding someone was strong enough. "Is there no way to release you?"

Release. It was the only thing he wanted. So far, no witch who had come through the academy was strong enough to grant him what he wanted. Fiona could, of course, but Joe couldn't expose himself to her when he was a mere spirit. No, he would present himself as a man and nothing less. "Maybe someday, Little Witch. But until that day, I'm as trapped as you are. Well, were," he corrected himself.

There was a moment of silence as this odd sense of guilt settled on Isabel's shoulders. She was going home to spend time with spirits who could leave. Meanwhile, her companion here was trapped. "I could try to help," she finally said.

"Took a great amount of magic to keep me here. You don't have near enough power to let me go." Bitterness seeped into his words unintentionally. It was hard not to harbor disdain, but this girl wasn't totally useless, so he wasn't about to completely push her away. She interested him, like a strange toy given by a distant relative on Christmas. "Go on, get packed up and go home. I'll be here when you get back." Unfortunately.


	11. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

She was nervous about coming home. Though she had been gone for less than a full year, Isabel had this horrid feeling in the pit of her stomach that everything had changed and everyone had moved on from her. But how could that be when no one could leave?

Isabel was comforted when the Uber she ordered brought her to the Murder House and the outside was the same. That meant no one had taken over. This was still home.

Her eyes moved over to the neighboring house. It was a house she was less familiar with, but still knew. Her birth mother's home…

Should she stop in and say hello? The polite part of her knew she ought to. But the bigger, more rational part of Isabel wanted to avoid her mother at all cost. Forcing the thought of Constance Langdon from her mind, Isabel walked up to the front door of her home, and stepped inside.

It was oddly quiet. No spirits around. It was the morning of Halloween, so perhaps everyone was already gone.

"Hello?" Isabel called out.

Moira stepped out from the kitchen, her deep red hair and aged appearance immediately bringing comfort to Isabel. Isabel let her messenger bag fall to the floor and she went straight up to Moira, hugging the breath out of her.

"Iz?" Derek called out, his voice coming from the study. "You home?"

"Yeah!" Isabel called back when she stepped away from Moira.

Maybe coming home was a mistake. It had only been a few minutes, and already she dreaded going back to the academy and leaving everyone behind again.

A sleepless Derek appeared, grinning. Isabel wasted no time in meeting him in a hug. She still irritated at the fact that he was so easily swayed into making her go to Miss Robichaux's, but she wasn't angry. Moira had been right: he was looking out for her. It did cross her mind that it might have been Concilium, but seeing him now she knew that it couldn't possibly be true. He was just doing what he thought would be best because he didn't know anything about real witches.

"You look good, Iz."

"You don't," Isabel replied. "When was the last time you slept?"

Derek chuckled. "You know me: sleep can wait until the book is finished."

"So you've started a new book?"

"Trying to." There was a beat, and he added, "I didn't tell her you were coming."

"She probably already knows anyway."

The "she" in question was, of course, Isabel's birth mother. She was so desperate to get Isabel to love her and see her as a parent. It was pathetic, not mention annoying. The only downside to being home was having to deal with that nonsense.

"Is Tate home?" Isabel asked, changing the subject deliberately. She didn't want to talk about Constance. She was more concerned about her half-brother. They haven't spoken since the first she called home a little less than a year ago, when he got upset with her for something beyond her control.

"That boy left the house since the sun peeked out from the horizon," Moira answered. "He was determined to get out of here. Derek, bring her bag to her room. I'll put the kettle on."

Derek followed Moira's instructions as Isabel followed Moira.

"We haven't heard from you in a few weeks," Moira remarked as she put the kettle on the stove for tea. "Your father was a little worried. I expected you were just busy."

"Yeah. I've been actually trying and all that. Well, sort of," Isabel admitted. "I just don't like magic. But the history is really cool. I've been reading a lot about the real history of witches. There's this old greeting that some witches still use by putting their hand to their foreheads, bowing, and saying 'well met.' It's mostly out of practice in America, but some witches still use it to identify each other."

Moira smiled warmly. She wasn't involved in witchcraft at all, but it did warm her heart to hear Isabel act passionately about something that she was so determined to hate. "May I ask what changed your mind? I know my words alone couldn't have gotten through to you."

That was true, Isabel couldn't deny it. "I met someone." She frowned at her phrasing. "Not like that. The Supreme; the head of the coven. I met her and she sort of taught me a few things."

"Well that's quite the honor." Moira poured the tea into two cups, adding a little bit of milk to both and handing one to Isabel. "Are you truly happy there?"

There was a pause. "I don't know if I can answer that." She thought she was happy there, but then Fiona left and there was something lacking. Not that Isabel didn't like Cordelia. She loved Cordelia, and things were certainly more interesting now that Joe the Cynical Ghost made himself known. But without Fiona, everything was lackluster.

Moira understood that. It was a question that even she couldn't truly answer. She was trapped in this house for eternity, and that was miserable, yes. But she had come to love the Noble family, so it wasn't like it was hell on earth.

A comfortable silence settled between them as they drank their tea.

Realizing that it was quiet, Isabel took a moment to really listen. The house had never been so silent. Could it be that everyone, not just Tate, was gone for the day? "Moira, why are you still here?"

Moira didn't react to the question, pretending that it didn't bother her. "There's no reason for me to leave this year." Her mother was no longer in the nursing home; Moira had helped her pass on the year before. There was no one left for her in this world. If she could kill herself, she would. But Constance Langdon had already taken care of that, murdering her in this house. She supposed she could do something: slit her wrists, eat a bottle of pills, cut her throat; however, none of it would have the desired effect. She would just wake up in the house, still trapped. She wasn't about to tell Isabel any of that, though.

Isabel let the matter go, despite numerous questions burning a hole on her tongue, sensing that Moira didn't wish to talk about it.

"The Montgomerys are still here," Moira said suddenly, as if just remembering. "But they never leave."

Perhaps Isabel would say hello to them. Perhaps not. The scar on her arm in the shape of a bite mark tingled in remembrance. She shivered at the memory: the demonic Montgomery baby that lived in the darkest, dankest corner of the basement coming out of the shadows and attacking her. It was something she managed to forget about most of the time.

"Don't mind me," Derek announced as he waltzed into the kitchen and went to the cupboard. He grabbed a bag of Salt & Vinegar chips before disappearing again.

Isabel knew that he would be munching on those chips for dinner. "Is he at least having one actual meal a day?"

"Of course. I make sure he sits down at the table and eats," Moira said as she refilled Isabel's tea. "Speaking of which, go on and sit down. You look like you're long overdue for an actual breakfast."

So Isabel sat and ate an actual breakfast: eggs, pancakes, more tea; she ate and ate until she was more than full. She really had missed Moira's cooking.

As she helped Moira with the dishes, Derek reappeared in the kitchen, having finally run out of steam. He walked up to Isabel and kissed the top of her head. "It's really good to have you home, Iz. I missed you." They hadn't spoken on the phone much; he wanted to let her live her life. Seeing her made him crave the life they had before she went away to boarding school. He missed having her by his side, someone to bounce narrative ideas off of and to laugh at stupid jokes with and watch movies until late even on school nights. He raised Isabel all by himself, and even though she had been gone for nearly a year, he was still finding it difficult to let her go.

"Missed you, too," Isabel replied earnestly. "How's the writing going?"

"It's… going." Derek sighed. "Sorry I've been kind of ignoring you."

"No, it's fine," Isabel insisted. "Really. Actually, I might go out tonight, so write away."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Out? I hope you don't mean to the bars or anything."

"Oh, no," Isabel said quickly. "No, not like that. Probably just walking around."

Derek searched Isabel's eyes, finding her true intent immediately. "Tate has to come back by tomorrow morning; there's no need to go after him." Derek knew that Isabel and Tate were friends and siblings, and close because of that. But he wasn't fond of the idea of his daughter being so sympathetic towards a school shooter.

"I know." That wasn't going to stop her though, and she knew Derek could sense that. However, he didn't say anything else on the matter; she was free to do what she pleased.

So, when it was early evening, Isabel did exactly that: what she pleased. And what she pleased was to talk around the neighborhood and perhaps find Tate and talk to him in person.

Isabel roamed the streets aimlessly, not having any idea where Tate might be. She paused a moment on the sidewalk, closing her eyes and trying to sense him like she could sense Joe at the academy. But it was proving to be difficult on Halloween.

"The veil between life and death is thinned. If it's a ghost you're looking for, you're going to have to try a lot harder to find it."

Isabel opened her eyes, thrilled and shocked to see the one person she wasn't sure she'd ever see again.

"Fiona."


	12. Chapter 11

A big shoutout to anonymouscsifan who has been so supportive of this series, and has stuck with the coven installment through all the versions I've posted and deleted. I'm sure you'll be happy to know that I have no intention of abandoning and deleting this version!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was a faceoff. Isabel stood her ground, feet planted firmly on the ground as she waited for Fiona to be the first to break. She being foolish, of course. Fiona was never the first to break. She relaxed her body, letting her tensed shoulders sag.

"You were here the whole time?"

"Christ no. LA is only good for a few weeks at a time. It's a mystery why I haven't just sold my house yet."

"You have a house here."

"Luxurious penthouse, but details, details," Fiona replied dismissively. She took a cigarette out of her silver case and the end lit up with just a raise of her eyebrows. "So darling Delia let you come home for Halloween."

"She did."

"And now you're here, wandering the streets like a lost puppy."

"I'm not―"

"Oh spare me," Fiona said sharply. "So tell me, have you been practicing since I've left?"

"Not really," Isabel admitted. "Been studying history."

She waited for a snarky comment, but it never came. Instead, she watched, frozen to the spot as Fiona came closer. She could smell the cigarette smoke mingling with Fiona's sweet perfume. It made her stomach and chest tense.

"You've grown, haven't you?" Fiona asked rhetorically as she circled Isabel like a shark, eyes alight with intrigue. "Have you reached eighteen yet?"

"Not yet." Isabel's words came out in a choked whisper. There were alarm bells going off in her head. This wasn't right. Fiona shouldn't be asking that question! If it was a man asking Isabel that, she would have immediately written him off as being predatory. But this wasn't a man. This was Fiona Goode, and Isabel could feel herself being sucked in.

Fiona smirked. Even though she had been gone for months, she already had Isabel back under her thumb, confirming what she wanted to know. She leaned in close, whispering, "Pity," in Isabel's ear before pulling away. "You'll meet me for drinks later."

"Yeah, sure," Isabel answered without hesitation. Was she under some sort of spell? Or was it just Fiona's perfume that made her mind hazy? "What should I wear?"

Fiona tilted her head to the side, letting her eyes roam over Isabel's body. "Something black. It will suit you." She met Isabel's eyes, finding it so amusing how easy it was to get this girl to do whatever she wanted. "Go on then. I'll be seeing you later."

"'''""""'"""""

The rest of the day played out how Isabel expected. She went back home and hurried to her room, barricading herself in there to avoid any questions. She picked out a little black dress that was hidden away in her closet, and did her makeup over and over again, never quite satisfied. Her eyeshadow wasn't smoky enough, eyeliner not sharp enough; there was always something.

The sun sank below the horizon, and Derek was getting worried. He went up to Isabel's room and lightly knocked on her door.

"Iz? Everything alright?" The door swung open, and his eyes widened at the sight of his daughter in such an appalling getup. "Where the hell do you think you're going dressed like that?"

"Halloween party," Isabel answered dismissively. "Got in touch with Leah. Remember her from high school? She's having it at her house. I'm probably just gonna crash there."

Derek was so thrown off balance he barely registered that Isabel was halfway down the staircase by the time he processed her words. "Hey, wait a sec!" He caught up to Isabel on the stairs. "We never really had this talk before. I'll be honest, I didn't think I would need to. But you know, parties can be a big deal and overwhelming; just be smart, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'll be fine. I'll only have water."

"Iz."

"Dad, I swear I'll be okay. I don't want to drink or anything. I just want to see my friends." Isabel let a few drops of sadness flavor her words to sell the lie.

Derek ate it right up like a delicious meal. "Okay. Just be careful." He kissed the top of her head, and let her go. He didn't go to the window to watch her leave, giving her the space that he felt she deserved. He never saw the car that came and picked her up.

Moira watched this all unfold with the most skeptical look. What Isabel just told Derek was a bunch of bullshit, but she didn't stop the girl. She wanted to, but it wasn't her place to interfere. Not yet. She had every intention of giving her a stern talking to later.

The car ride seemed to go on for a while, and for a brief moment, Isabel wondered if she was being taken out of California. Then the driver pulled up to The Standard hotel. Isabel could hardly believe it. It was a ritzy place; crazy expensive.

Without a word, the driver handed Isabel a slip of paper after opening her car door. In Fiona's handwriting, the paper read "the rooftop." Instinctually, Isabel looked up. Lights and music floated down from the roof of the hotel.

Isabel walked inside the hotel, her heart twisting. She felt completely out of place. What was she even doing there? She was being stupid! She needed to snap out of it.

Shaking her head to rid herself of stupidity, Isabel walked back out of the hotel. Her heart sank when she saw that the driver was already gone. She lied to her father, had gotten all dolled up for someone she shouldn't even like; what the hell was she even doing?

"Fuck!" she exclaimed in frustration.

She needed to pause, and catch her breath.

Fiona suddenly appeared beside Isabel, her fingertips brushing Isabel's hair. What happened next made Fiona stiffen in anger. Isabel disappeared right in front of her and reappeared ten feet away.

Transmutation.

Neither of them said anything. Isabel was in shock at what she had just done, and Fiona scrutinized her with narrowed eyes.

"Well, it seems even without practice your powers are growing," Fiona remarked, her tone bitter. Descensum, concilium, and now transmutation all within a year; Isabel was developing at a concerning pace.

Isabel didn't like the way Fiona was looking at her. Should she be ashamed for having just done that? Did she do something wrong? "Sorry," Isabel replied automatically.

Fiona forced herself to give a pleased smile. "No need. You're becoming quite the witch. Do you think you could do it again?"

Did she want to do it again? No, she didn't; not if it was upsetting Fiona. But she was going to do as she was asked. Isabel tried focusing, but the problem was that she didn't know what she had done. Fiona had scared her, so she just… transported.

When nothing happened, Isabel apologized once more.

"It's alright. Now why don't we go up for a drink?"

Isabel shook her head. She couldn't go up there. Even with Fiona right in front of her, offering, she couldn't say yes. "I don't belong up there." It was more than that, though. She was trying to be smart. She was trying to look out for herself. She shouldn't be going out drinking with Fiona Goode; she was seventeen for Christ's sake! The alarm bells in her head were going off again. This was not a good situation. She should just go home.

"Then we'll go somewhere else." Fiona could see that Isabel was desperate to leave; she could feel the anxiety radiating off of her. But she wasn't going to let her go, especially not now. The timing was too perfect, and she would not miss this opportunity. "Somewhere quiet."

Isabel couldn't say no. She knew she couldn't. She chewed her lower lip, willing herself to vanish. No such luck though, so instead she just nodded. One night of drinking at a quiet bar with Fiona, like in New Orleans, then she would go home and go to bed. That would be the end of it.

All thoughts of finding her brother in the streets vanished as she walked alongside Fiona to the bar of Fiona's choice.

"This is better," Fiona decided as Isabel sat beside her in a little bar that resembled the jazz lounge they went to before. The bartender came over to take their drink orders, and quirked an eyebrow at Isabel. "You know what to do," Fiona said.

And she did. Isabel concentrated on the bartender. His mind was a little trickier, and Isabel felt some resistance, as if the bartender was aware that something was happening to him. After a thirty second struggle, he gave in and went to fetch two martinis without needing to be told out loud. As he did so, Isabel felt something warm drip from her nose: blood. She grabbed the closest cocktail napkin and wiped away the nosebleed.

Fiona appeared to be disappointed by this, but on the inside she was grinning. It was a sign of weakness; perhaps Isabel wasn't as strong as she thought.

"Is that supposed to happen?"

"It can. Concilium is an exercise of the mind. Overworking it has some side effects."

A martini was placed in front of Fiona in record time, and a large Pina colada was given to Isabel, which she immediately began to chug as if she had spent weeks in a desert and this was the first thing she's been given to drink. Fiona watched this with raised eyebrows, but said nothing about it. She wasn't going to stop Isabel. She needed her drunk, and this would absolutely get her there.

"This is a really good," Isabel said when she was halfway through her drink. She then finished it within seconds. Isabel hyper focused on the bar top, her head beginning to swim.

It wasn't enough; Fiona needed her more far gone. She motioned over to the bartender and had him pour two shots of vodka. Fiona nudged them towards Isabel, who didn't need any instructions on what to do.

She downed one of the shots, and grimaced. It wasn't sweet like the Pina colada. It tasted like a doctor's office. It was disgusting, but she drank the second shot anyway when Fiona pushed it over to her. Her face scrunched up into an unpleasant expression. "God that's awful," she choked out. "No more. I'm tapping out."

Fiona chuckled. "Such a lightweight," she teased, brushing a lock of hair out of Isabel's face. "I'll take you home."

"Already?" Isabel whined. She felt like the night had just started; surely it couldn't be time to go home already.

"Yes, already." Fiona stood up and slid her arm around Isabel's waist, guiding her towards the door and out into the night.

Los Angeles wasn't typically the place that came to mind when thinking about spooky atmosphere. But there was something in the air that made it crackle that night. Magic? Isabel couldn't tell. It was like her body was trying to tell her something, but her mind was too far gone to listen.

She stumbled along the sidewalk, leaning into Fiona who never once let go of her. She could smell Fiona's sweet perfume mixed in with cigarettes and vermouth. It was heaven.

"Are you gonna ever come back to the academy?" Isabel asked in a mumble.

"And why would you like to know?"

"Miss s'you," Isabel admitted, slurring her words. "Gotta teach me. Gotta teach me t'be the next s'preme."

Fiona chuckled. "You really think you're the next Supreme?"

"Could be."

"No."

Isabel stopped walking abruptly, nearly falling over. "No? Why not? I can do the Wonders." Not all, but a few and that had to count for something, didn't it?

"Being the Supreme has one very specific requirement that I'm afraid disqualifies you."

"Wasisit?"

"Being alive."

With a little flick of Fiona's wrist, Isabel was thrown into the street. She hit the pavement hard, loose bits of asphalt digging into her skin. Her leg felt warm as blood dripped from a laceration. She looked up at Fiona with a confused expression.

A bright light hit her in the face as a loud horn blared, and Isabel turned her head to see a car that was close. Too close. All Isabel could do was stare with wide eyes, her drunken brain unable to process a goodbye to the world.

And then she wasn't in the street anymore. She was sitting on the sidewalk, and Fiona was gone. Her arm ached, and Isabel looked down to see a hand was gripping her. It was a strange hand though; black and shiny. Isabel's eyes followed the hand to the arm, up the arm and to the face. Except there wasn't a face. Instead, there was a shiny black head-shaped… thing.

Latex; that was the word! It was a latex suit. Isabel frowned. This latex creature saved her, but who was it?

She opened her mouth to say her thanks, but a rush of vomit replaced her words. As she spit out the contents of her stomach onto the pavement, the edges of her vision began to blur before going completely dark.

When she woke up, she was tucked into bed. Her mouth was terribly dry, with the vague taste of vomit. Isabel turned her head to see a large glass of water at her bedside. She grabbed it, drinking greedily. She finished it off, feeling slightly better before going back to sleep.


	13. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Morning," Isabel grumbled as she plodded into the kitchen. Her hair was a mess, her makeup was smeared under her eyes; she looked like absolute shit.

"You better clean up before your father sees you," Moira warned as she plated scrambled eggs with toast. She handed Isabel a cup of coffee. "What did you do last night?"

Isabel waved off Moira's question with a groan. In truth, she didn't remember much. There was a lot of alcohol, she did remember that. "Thank you," she mumbled, taking a bit into the breakfast. The warm, fluffy eggs immediately made her feel better. The coffee helped immensely as well. "Where is Dad, anyway?"

"Still asleep. Probably will be for a few more hours," Moira answered as she started cleaning up the pan she used. "He was up late last night, trying to write."

"What's he working on now?"

"You can ask him yourself when he wakes up."

Isabel rolled her eyes. She knew what Moira was getting at. "I'm not mad at him anymore. We had this talk, I know him sending me away was in my best interest or whatever."

But Moira knew better. On the surface, Isabel had forgiven Derek. But deep down, Isabel still harbored animosity. She still barely spoke to her father. She stopped washing the dishes and turned to face Isabel. "You shouldn't have come back."

"What?"

"We missed you. The house missed you. But you should have stayed at the academy."

"I had to come back for Halloween."

"No, you didn't," Moira said matter-of-factly. "There was no reason for you to come back. You used Halloween as an excuse. You came back because you wanted Derek to see that he needed you home and would take you out of the school."

"That's not― I didn't―" Isabel frowned, not liking being called out. "You're being kind of a bitch right now, you know that?" she snapped.

"And you're being a child."

Isabel didn't have a response. Moira was supposed to be on her side. What the fuck was going on? Upset and annoyed, Isabel turned her attention back to her breakfast. She downed most of the coffee and picked at her eggs.

Moira sighed heavily. She knew she was harsh, but Isabel was past the point of babying. She walked over to the girl and put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, but you know I'm right."

"That's why I'm mad," Isabel answered. Moira was absolutely right, and that was irritating. Isabel didn't like not being right. She relaxed her body, leaning into Moira's touch. "Sorry for swearing."

"Oh I've been called worse," Moira assured Isabel. She didn't mention that it was Isabel's birth mother who called her worse things. There was no need to go that far.

"'''''"""''""""'

Isabel never thought she'd be happy to see Miss Robichaux's. She supposed that during her time spent there, it had become somewhat of a second home. And a second home was exactly what she needed after the drama that ensued back in Los Angeles.

Apparently there had been an incident. She didn't remember it. She didn't remember anything.

That wasn't true. She remembered Fiona. She remembered getting drunk with Fiona again. She really needed to stop that. That was twice now; she really didn't need it happening for a third time. There was another thing she remembered: latex. She just didn't remember in what context.

Isabel knew that Tate was upset with her, but there was something else. He tried explaining that Fiona had knocked Isabel into the street, but Isabel didn't want to believe him. How could she? She must have tripped or something. After her denial, Tate gave up talking to her. He wasn't just upset, he was infuriated. It made her time home miserable.

She greet Spalding with a "hey" as she passed by him in the kitchen, heading to the greenhouse to find Cordelia. He didn't acknowledge her.

"Welcome back," said Cordelia when she looked up from her work, glasses perched on her nose and hair pulled back into a ponytail. "How was home?"

Isabel didn't answer. Instead, she strode up to Cordelia and hugged her tightly. Cordelia, stunned, looked down at Isabel in surprise before instinctively bringing her arms around Isabel. "Is everything okay?" Cordelia asked, confused by the sudden display of affection.

"Yeah, yeah," Isabel answered. "I'm just really, really sorry about being so stubborn with magic and I'm really glad that you let me study here despite me being an asshole sometimes."

Cordelia couldn't help but laugh at the apology. "You're not that much of an asshole." She pulled away, making Isabel look at her. "What is all of this?"

"Home kinda sucked," Isabel admitted.

"Your mother?"

"Believe it or not, no. Managed to avoid her." Though Isabel had to wonder: was that the best choice? Avoiding Constance didn't seem to be making her happy. But the idea of spending time with her did make Isabel miserable. "It was just a bunch of stuff. Maybe you were right: I should have stayed here."

"Because you had a miserable time?"

Isabel opened her mouth, and then closed it. Should she tell Cordelia? Dare she explain that Cordelia had been right, and something bad did happen while she was home?

"I ran into Fiona," Isabel blurted out. "She was staying there and I was going for a walk and happened upon her. It was… weird."

Cordelia frowned. Fiona ran away to Los Angeles? That bitch. Fiona abandoned her coven to spend time across the country and ignore her responsibilities. Cordelia wasn't surprised, but she was still upset. "Did you spend time with her?"

Isabel nodded, and Cordelia closed her eyes, exhaling heavily. "Isabel, I need you to promise me that you'll stay away from that woman."

"I can handle Fiona."

"No, you can't," Cordelia said sharply. "Please, Isabel. I don't like the idea of her spending so much time with you." Something had to be up. Why did her mother take an interest in Isabel? Cordelia didn't know the answer, but she was suspicious of Fiona nonetheless.

"Fine. Deal." Isabel had a feeling that now she was back at the academy, it would be easy. Unless, of course, Fiona decided to suddenly show back up. But Isabel was sure those chances were slim. "Where's Nan?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Her room. She has a bit of a headache from the voices."

"'Kay… I'm gonna go unpack," Isabel said as she started leaving the greenhouse.

Cordelia watched Isabel, lips pursed. Something happened when Isabel went home, that much was obvious. Did it have to do with Fiona? Did something bad happen? Cordelia wrung her hands. "Izzy, wait," she said, stopping the girl in her tracks. "Come here, let me teach you something."

"I'm not really in the mood," Isabel said.

"Too bad. This will be useful. A potion for jetlag."

Isabel relented, softly smiling. "Alright, that's definitely something I could use right now. That and something sweet."

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

"''"""''""""""""

"Okay, as much as I love cookies, cookie dough is way better."

"Agreed," Cordelia said before taking another bite.

Cookie trays were spread out on the countertops, unused. After the cookie dough was made, they of course needed to taste-test it. One bite, and baking the cookies was long forgotten. A small bowl was set aside for Nan, who still wasn't feeling better. So it was just Cordelia and Isabel lounging in the kitchen, eating cookie dough a spoonful at a time.

"Your birthday is coming up, isn't it?" Cordelia asked. "Are you going to want to go back home for that too?"

"No," Isabel said quickly. "No, I'm fine right here." She still didn't remember what happened back home that night she got drunk, but whatever it was, she didn't want it to happen again.

"We can do something special here then."

"You don't have to," Isabel insisted. "Seriously, it isn't a big deal. Just a nice night in will be fine. Maybe no classes that day?"

"Nice try," Cordelia replied with an amused smirk.

"Hello!" Hank called out from the foyer. Seconds later, he appeared in the kitchen, suitcase in hand. "Oh hey, you're back," he said to Isabel, setting the suitcase down. "What do we got here: cookies?"

"Well, sort of," Isabel answered as Cordelia laughed. "We got kinda sidetracked."

"I can see that." Hank took Cordelia's spoon, getting a bite of cookie dough for himself. "How was home?" Isabel shook her head, not wanting to get into it. Hank read her loud and clear, and didn't push the matter. He took another spoonful of cookie dough before picking up his suitcase. "Alright, I'm gonna go unpack," he said through the mouthful of cookie dough.

Isabel and Cordelia watched him go, and then Cordelia straightened up. "We should stop before we get sick," she said, taking the bowl of cookie dough to put it in the fridge.

Isabel brought the spoons to the sink to rinse them off. She supposed she ought to go upstairs. She'd been back at the academy for a few hours now and the only time she spent in her room were the few when she dropped off her suitcase.

"I'm gonna go check on Nan," Isabel said quickly before leaving the kitchen and heading up the stairs.

She walked right past Nan's room, making a beeline for her own.

"So home was hell, huh?"

"Don't even get me started." Isabel walked over to her bed and flopped on it. Her stomach, full of cookie dough, didn't quite appreciate it. She groaned, curling up. "Fuck!" she whined. She was miserable. She was absolutely miserable. Going home had ruined her mood and now she didn't feel well. "Can you put on my record player please?"

The Axeman scoffed. "Oh, so I'm your servant now?"

"Joe, I am tired. I'm annoyed. I feel sick because I just ate my weight in raw cookie dough and probably got salmonella. Please, for the love of Satan, will you put on my record player?"

Her little outburst struck him as funny. She wasn't a threat to him, no matter how tough she pretended to act like. "Whatever you say, Little Witch," he said, walking over to her record player and putting on the Elsa Mars record that he quickly learned was her favorite.

"Thank you," she mumbled into her pillow.

The Axeman watched her intently for a few moments, a strange feeling stirring inside him that he thought was long gone. It was something he hadn't felt since Fiona was a little girl at Miss Robichaux's. This kind of paternal warmth (though it more on the lukewarm side) that he tried ignoring. He still hated witches. He hated that sometimes Isabel just wouldn't leave him alone. But he did appreciate having someone to talk to; someone in touch with death who didn't ask dull questions.

"So what happened?" he asked her, regretting it immediately. He didn't actually care, but now he needed to pretend like he did.

Isabel sat up. She didn't speak right away, trying to find the words. She wasn't sure how exactly to summarize her time home. In retrospect, not much actually happened except for that one thing.

"I think Fiona tried to kill me."

The Axeman believed her. In fact, he didn't seem surprised at all. Isabel was expecting at least raised eyebrows, but she didn't even get that. He was completely chill, which unnerved her. Maybe he didn't understand?

"We went out and I got really drunk and… well, she was walking me home and apparently I ended up in the street and almost hit by a car."

Still, no horror or shock. Actually, he seemed mildly entertained by the story.

"You were drunk," he said, "and you stumbled into traffic. Not much of a murder attempt."

Well, when he put it that way, it made sense. She was drunk, she probably tripped and fell off the curb into street. She didn't have any proof that Fiona pushed her. Hell, she couldn't even remember that night beyond a drunken haze.

"Right, yeah, that's gotta be it." Why would Fiona want to try and kill her anyway?

He knew why. He knew exactly why. Apparently his Little Witch was more threatening than she looked.


	14. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Isabel sat by her bedroom window, mindlessly leafing through a book. She had woken up early, unable to sleep peacefully. She wrestled with her blankets for a solid half hour before giving up and just getting ready for the day.

Her anxiety levels were through the roof; she couldn't keep her leg from shaking.

"Why so nervous?"

Isabel looked up from the page she hadn't been reading. "You know why," she replied to Joe, chewing on her fingernail. It was very strange for her. She normally never got this nervous. But this day was significant. She was an A-D-U-L-T.

"You're being ridiculous. Birthdays mean nothing."

"I know." She closed the book, and stared out of the window. The sun was bright and warm, and it did make her feel a little bit better, but just that little bit.

The Axeman rolled his eyes. It may be Isabel's eighteenth birthday, but she was still indulging in teenaged dramatics. He lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "It's not a big deal," he said firmly.

Isabel rolled her eyes, pulling away. But her lips betrayed her, forming a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," she muttered, tossing the book onto her bed and standing up.

It wasn't really nervousness that overwhelmed her. It was anxiety. She was beyond anxious, not just because she was a legal adult but because she was desperate for a particular someone's company.

"Do you think she'll come back?" Isabel asked Joe, trying not to sound hopeful and failing miserably.

The Axeman scoffed, shaking his head. "You think Fiona would come back just for you? You're head over heels, Little Witch."

"So are you," Isabel accused. "I see you when I talk about her. You're not that great of an actor."

"I guess you're right." Oh how little she knew. Not that great of an actor? She still had no idea who he truly was; the amount of blood he had shed or how many times he had swung his weapon of choice. Not that great of an actor? Bullshit. But he wasn't about to disagree.

"Play for me today."

The Axeman quirked an eyebrow, not following. "Do what?"

"Play for me," Isabel repeated. "You insist on being super mysterious. The only thing I know about you is that you play the saxophone. Now I'm the Birthday Girl, and you're my friend― shush, yes you're my friend, so I want you to play for me. It can be your birthday gift to me."

He laughed at the request, but couldn't argue with it. "While I can't entirely agree with the reasoning, fine, I'll indulge you."

Isabel grinned, pleased to get her way. She was unsure about Fiona, but at least she would get a saxophone serenade from Joe. She really did want to hear him play, and considering her only records were Elsa Mars records (which he openly loathed), letting him indulge in jazz was only fair.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and Isabel groaned. Who the hell was disturbing her this early? She was surprised to find Nan on the other side, holding a cup of freshly made tea.

"Happy birthday!" Nan said, beaming as she handed the tea over to Isabel. "It's your favorite," she added, not needing to explain how she knew that.

Isabel took a sip, and indeed it was her favorite tea: lavender earl grey. Isabel smiled softly, suddenly not bothered by being interrupted. "Thanks Nan, you didn't have to."

"Well I had to do something. I knew you wouldn't let me bake for you."

"Fair." Isabel paused a moment, and then had a thought. "You can bake _with_ me, though. I mean, it's my birthday. I can't possibly do _all_ of the work myself. And cake for breakfast is always a good thing."

Nan couldn't agree more, which was how the two of them ended up in the kitchen, covered in flour and licking sugar off of their fingers.

"You two are up early," Cordelia remarked through a yawn as she entered the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffeepot. "Are you making cake?"

"Birthdays call for breakfast cake," Nan replied.

Cordelia looked to Isabel, confused. "I thought you didn't want to do anything for your birthday?"

"I'm not going to say no to breakfast cake," Isabel said as her phone started vibrating; Derek was calling. Isabel immediately left the kitchen to take the call. "Dad?"

"Happy birthday Iz!"

Isabel grinned brightly. "Thanks. Isn't it like… super early for you?"

"Yeah I uh, haven't gone to sleep yet."

"Dad!"

"I will, I will. Don't worry. Moira's making sure I function. So how are you going to celebrate today?"

"Breakfast cake," Isabel answered. "Nan's helping me make it."

"Birthday breakfast cake. Sounds like a good plan. Well, don't let me keep you." There was a pause, and then Derek said, "She wants to talk to you."

Isabel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her birth mother wanted to speak to her. Did Isabel want to speak to her? Not at all.

She didn't care that her mother had given her up. That didn't bother her in the slightest. She had a happy family with Derek. What bothered her to no end was the fact that Constance was suddenly trying to be back in her life. She lost that right when she signed the adoption papers.

"I think you should talk to her." Derek waited for Isabel to refuse as soon as he spoke.

But she didn't. Instead, he was met with dead silence. And then, "She's there with you, isn't she?"

"Yes," Derek admitted, looking over to Constance. "Please Iz, just say hi. She wants to say happy birthday. She's allowed that, isn't she?"

When it came to Constance, Derek had difficulty harboring ill feelings. He understand Isabel's frustrations, but he had only witnessed Constance doing what was right for Isabel. When he left for a book tour and a wild group broke into the house, Constance made sure Isabel stayed with her and was safe. She suggested that Isabel go to Miss Robichaux's because it was for the best.

Isabel bit down on her lower lip. She really wanted to say no. Could she be that much of an asshole? Yes, she could be. She could just hang up. But that would be bratty, and Moira had scolded her about being a brat. Maybe she could suck it up for a few seconds.

"Fine," she relented with a heavy sigh. She listened to the shuffle of the phone being passed over.

"Isabel?" Constance sounded unexpectedly meek. "Happy birthday, darling."

It was as if she was afraid that Isabel would hang up any second. "Thanks," Isabel said, trying and failing to not sound a complete prick.

"Are you having a good day so far?"

"Yeah." Isabel forced herself to sound cheerier, like when she was speaking with her dad. "Um, my friend and I are making a cake for breakfast." She paused a moment, and then asked, "Wait, why are you up so early?"

"I'm in the same boat as your father: had trouble sleeping. It's a curse that befalls all parents when their children come of age."

Isabel wanted to protest that Constance shouldn't be feeling that way. Biologically, Constance was her mother. In every other meaning of the word? No. But she bit her tongue. Of course, now she couldn't respond. It seemed she didn't know how to interact with Constance without being a bit of a bitch.

"Are you still there?" Constance asked after a few moments of silence passed. This really wasn't going well, was it? She wished it was easier. Why couldn't Isabel see that every choice she made was for the best? She was just looking out for Isabel like how a mother should!

"Yeah, I'm here." But Isabel didn't say anything else. What else could she say? God she hated this. Maybe she should just hang up.

Constance exhaled roughly, growing frustrated with this ridiculous dance. It had been about a year since revealing to Isabel who she truly was, and still they were going on with this nonsense. "Jesus H. Christ Isabel. Now I know you hate me more than a depressive hates life, but like it or not, I am your mother and I would appreciate it if you could spare me two seconds of your goddamn day."

Isabel raised her eyebrows, not expecting the outburst. "Right, yeah, sorry," she answered, stunned.

"Thank you. Now I know you will take everything I say with the tiniest grain of salt. But Isabel? Be safe."

Isabel frowned. Constance was completely serious, and those two words, "be safe," had a significant amount of weight to them. Isabel felt uneasy. "What's going to happen?"

"I wish I knew." Constance's gift of clairvoyance was an absolute blessing except when it was a curse, such as this instance. Something wasn't quite right. But she didn't know what. She just knew that something wasn't right, and she couldn't be there to serve as protection. "And Isabel?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, honey."

She couldn't say it back, even in a meaningless way. Isabel couldn't bring herself to just toss out those words to appease Constance. "I know," she said instead, and then hung up, not even giving Derek a chance to talk to her again. She was done; she couldn't handle anymore.

Holding back the urge to throw her phone against the wall, Isabel walked back to the kitchen.

"Are you alright?" Cordelia asked, seeing that Isabel was now irritated.

"Yeah, yeah fine," Isabel insisted, wearing a smile as fake as Dick Van Dyke's cockney accent in _Mary Poppins_. "How much longer until that cake is ready?"


	15. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Full of cake and coffee, Isabel slogged through her lessons with Cordelia and Nan, easily losing focus. How could she do her work when it was her birthday? It wasn't even that. She found herself constantly checking her phone to see if she had gotten a text message or looking out of the window to the driveway to see if a black car had rolled up.

Nothing.

The hours ticked by without much action other than that morning. Her hopes began to sink with the sun, the sky becoming a deep enchanting blue.

"Seems like a disappointing birthday," the Axeman remarked at twilight, watching Isabel bury herself under her blankets.

"Like you said: birthdays aren't a big deal," Isabel said, her voice muffled by layers of cotton.

He did say that. But something not being a big deal didn't mean it had to be disappointing.

"Still want me to play for you?"

Isabel's head popped out from underneath the blankets. "Will you?"

Before the Axeman could answer, there was a knock on the bedroom door. Isabel kicked off the blankets and opened the door to find Spalding. He held out a slip of paper that read: _9 PM_. There was nothing else.

"Thanks," Isabel said with a sly grin as she shut the door. Well, it seemed her birthday wasn't going to be so disappointing after all.

There were no instructions, no dress delivered to her, but Isabel got the hint. She went to her closet to pick out her sexiest shirt to pair with the tightest pair of jeans she owned. She was eighteen now. Eighteen changed everything.

Sure enough, 9 PM came around, and Isabel heard a car pull up into the driveway. As she left her room, Isabel thought back to her mother's warning. And yes, she did hesitate in that moment. But really, what was the worst that could happen?

The worse that could happen was that she would end up in front of another car and this time there would be no hero clad in latex to save her. Was she really willing to risk that?

Isabel told herself that it would be fine. She wouldn't get as drunk, and would be more aware of her surroundings. After her talk with Joe about that last incident, she didn't suspect Fiona had anything to do with it. Though it was strange that Fiona had left her in the Los Angeles street. But that didn't mean anything.

Of course it did, and it was stupid to think otherwise. Isabel knew it was stupid to think otherwise. She was being stupid. And that was fine. She wanted to be stupid. She wanted to pretend it was fine because if everything was fine, then there was nothing wrong with going out. God Fiona had really gotten under her skin.

"Where are you headed?" Hank asked curiously as Isabel passed him on the stairs.

Isabel was taken off guard; she didn't even realize Hank was at the academy. "Out celebrating," she answered, finishing her descent of the staircase and vanishing through the front door.

The car brought her to a familiar scene: a jazz bar that was comfortably crowded. Isabel made a beeline towards the woman dressed in all black.

"Come here often?" she joked, sitting on the bar stool beside Fiona.

Fiona looked over to Isabel for a brief moment, and scoffed lightly. "So I suppose eighteen gives you permission to dress like a slut."

Isabel's spirits immediately fell. She looked down at her outfit. She knew it wasn't exactly classy, but the insult hurt like a punch in the arm: dull but there was still an ache. "I… well…" There was nothing she could say in her own defense. She was disappointed, something that Isabel had never experienced quite like this. She felt like she did something wrong; that she was wrong. Should she go back and change?

Fiona chuckled at Isabel, seeing the hurt in her eyes. "You need to develop a thicker skin. You can't let every word I say get to you."

But how could she not when Fiona's word was God? Didn't Fiona know that?

Of course she knew that. She knew that if she told Isabel to jump, Isabel would ask how high. If she told Isabel to plunge off a bridge, Isabel would ask which bridge. But there would be no bridge jumping. It would be too out of character for Isabel. No, an unfortunate accident would have to do.

"Come on then," Fiona lightly tapped Isabel under her chin, "perk up. You're not so pretty when you're wallowing."

Isabel was able to let this insult roll off her shoulders. "You think I'm pretty then?"

Fiona didn't answer, merely smirked before motioning the bartender over and kicking off the night.

Isabel was careful this time. One celebratory shot and one martini. She still had to use Concilium on the bartender, but it was starting to come a little easier to her now that she practiced so much.

One celebratory shot and one martini and Isabel felt pleasantly buzzed. Not even tipsy, just relaxed. That was more than fine with her.

"You're not going to have more?" Fiona asked, masking her disappointment.

"Not after what happened last time."

"What happened last time?"

Isabel's brow furrowed, and the corner of her lips turned downward into a frown. What did Fiona mean? Didn't she remember? Isabel was sure Fiona had been more sober, so surely she remembered. "Back in LA? The car. I was so drunk I tripped and fell in front of it."

It seemed impossible that Fiona wouldn't remember, but there she was acting clueless. "I don't recall," Fiona answered, sounding bored with the topic. She did remember. She remembered that night very well; the disappointment. She was glad, though, that Isabel brushed off the incident as completely accidental. "One more drink," Fiona said, not leaving room for Isabel to argue.

She ordered two bourbons on the rocks, and they clinked glasses together. "To adulthood," Fiona said suggestively.

"And what does adulthood entail, exactly?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Fiona finished off her drink quickly as Isabel grimaced through it.

"Okay if adulthood means bourbon I think I'd rather go back to being seventeen."

Fiona laughed lightly, as if she found Isabel charming. "You don't mean that," she insisted, allowing her fingertips to brush a lock of Isabel's hair behind her ear. She could feel the excited and nervous energy radiating from Isabel.

As her heart raced and she bit her lower lip, Isabel was convinced of one thing: Fiona didn't try to kill her. If Fiona wanted to kill her, why bother doing all of these things? Buying her drinks, the little touches; it was driving her crazy! Last time Isabel checked, these were not acts of a potential murderer. They were certainly acts of a potential something, but not murderer.

"Tell me about that scar," Fiona instructed, seeing the mark on Isabel's forearm. She noticed it before, but now she was curious.

Isabel glanced to the scar, no bigger than a baby's mouth and in the shape of bite mark. "There's this demon thing that lives in my basement in Los Angeles. Got too close one day." There was more to it than that, but the details weren't important to Fiona, Isabel knew that. "Listen, I've gotta ask: what's going to happen tonight?"

Fiona chuckled, her fingertips ghosting Isabel's jaw, and Isabel nearly melted right then and there. The smell of cigarettes and Fiona's perfume was getting Isabel drunker than the bourbon. "Whatever you want to happen." Fiona stood up. "You have my number." She winked, and left Isabel alone at the bar.

Isabel waited a few minutes, and then left her half-finished bourbon on the counter. Her heart raced. Beyond the door lay uncertainty. Did she really wish to indulge in that? Yes, yes she did.

She thought she was in control of the situation, and Fiona had allowed her to think that. Let the girl have her little fantasy.

The air outside was refreshingly chilled which was a welcomed change from the warm and stale air in the bar. Isabel was disappointed to find that there wasn't a car waiting for her. She would just have to suck it up and walk back. The fresh air would do her some good, anyway. She needed to think.

Did she want this? Would she really walk back to the academy and call Fiona, asking her to come over? The idea made her hands shake from both excitement and fear. Was this the meaning of being an adult?

The outside world didn't matter to Isabel. She completely tuned it out as she kept playing out every scenario in her head. It wasn't until she heard the crack of a gunshot that she even remembered that she was on the sidewalk.

Isabel froze, her body becoming so tense that her muscles ached, her heart dropping to her stomach. It was like her brain had glitched. She didn't even process what happened until the second gunshot whizzed by her ear.

She ran.

Blinded by pain and fear, Isabel couldn't see where she was going. Her feet and legs were completely in charge, guiding her through the streets as she pounded the pavement. She ran and she ran and she ran and even when she burst through the door of the academy, she kept running until she was back in her room.

She slammed her bedroom door shut and leaned against it. Her lungs burned and her chest heaved; it didn't even feel like she was getting air in. Cautiously, she put her hand to her ear, checking for blood. Nothing. Whoever or whatever was shooting had been aiming for her, but missed.

Isabel sank to the floor, shaking more than a leaf on windy day. Something salty touched her lips, and Isabel realized that tears had started freely flowing. She felt absolutely sick to her stomach.

"J-Joe?" she called out in a hoarse whisper.

He was there, kneeling in front of her. "Got yourself into a bit of a mess didn't you, Little Witch?" he asked. He reached out, cupping her chin. She looked awful; beyond frightened. Whatever happened couldn't have been Fiona's doing. Fiona wouldn't have left her living in such a state.

Her lower lip quivered; she couldn't even find the words to describe what happened. She fruitlessly wiped her eyes, the tears continuing to fall, creating gray trails as the mingled with her mascara. So much for waterproof…

"Better get you to bed," the Axeman muttered. He helped Isabel stand and guided her over to the bed. He sat down with her, watching as she slipped into a catatonic state.

She sat on the edge of bed beside him, not making any attempt to start getting ready for bed. The Axeman sure as hell wasn't about to help her with that. He just sat there, and that was enough. Even when Isabel took a deep breath and leaned against him and he did nothing more to comfort her than just sitting there, that was enough. For right now, this was enough.


	16. Chapter 15

Thank you to everyone for your support on this work! Just about three more chapters and this piece will be wrapped up!

* * *

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was hard for her to say if she made the right choice. At first, she thought she did. Then she thought she was overreacting. But how was this overreacting? Isabel was pretty sure that calling the Witches' Council because she was shot at was a perfectly normal reaction.

Cordelia found them first. They were all set up in the ancestor room while Isabel was in the kitchen pouring herself and Nan a cup of coffee. Cordelia was beyond confused to see the Council there. They weren't one for surprise inspections, and this certainly didn't look like it was going to be an inspection. Cecily Pembroke was setting up her stenotype; this looked more like it was going to be a trial.

"What's going on?" Cordelia asked the three Council members. "I didn't call the Council."

"I did," Isabel said, standing in the doorway with a cup of coffee. She glanced down at her mug and then said, "There's uh, fresh coffee in the kitchen if anyone wants any."

"Perhaps once this sordid matter is all taken care of and we can truly enjoy the exquisite bitterness of a dark roast," said Myrtle. She gestured to the chair that was placed in front of the three witches.

"May I ask what the hell is going on?" It was Cordelia's school; this was her student. Yet she was completely out of the loop as to what was happening.

"That's what we're here to find out, dear." Myrtle looked to Isabel with expectant eyes. "Why have you called us here?"

Isabel drank her coffee quickly, trying to find the words. It seemed too strange to say it out loud. It didn't make sense. She was Isabel Noble! She lived a good life. She had always been safe.

She glanced down at her forearm where the bite mark scar was hidden by the sleeve of a black shirt.

Okay, not always safe.

But this? This was beyond anything she could have imagined.

"I uh, I was walking back to the academy last night and I um… I think I was shot at?"

Stunned silence resonated throughout the room.

Pembroke was the first to speak. "And you called us here because…?"

"I'm a good kid. I don't have enemies. My dad doesn't have enemies. I have only one target on my back."

"Witch," Quentin concluded. "You think a witch hunter did this, don't you?" When Isabel nodded, he sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. "I might take you up on that cup of coffee."

"''""""""'  
Fully caffeinated and a little more at ease, Isabel sat alone with the Witches' Council. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn't like sitting in front of the three Council members, being scrutinized like she was a strange bug.

She was making a serious allegation, she knew that. This wasn't going to be any easy process, and again, she was wondering if she made the right choice.

"Okay, so I was walking back to the academy―"

"From where?" Quentin interrupted. Isabel decided she didn't like him.

"Does it matter?" It did, Isabel knew it did. But she didn't want to admit that she was out drinking with Fiona. That would raise more questions: why was she drinking? Why was she with Fiona? Where was Fiona?

Where _was_ Fiona?

"Do you suspect someone was following you?" Pembroke asked, fingers perched on the stenotype.

"I don't think so? I didn't notice anyone looking suspicious."

"So you were in a place with a lot of people."

There was a long pause as Myrtle, Quentin, and Pembroke peered down at Isabel. Isabel knew she would have to confess everything to explain her story and get the necessary facts across. She breathed deeply; Fiona was going to kill her.

"It was my birthday. I met Fiona at a bar. I used concilium on the bartender and had a few drinks. I decided I was done for the night so Fiona left in a car and I walked back."

"And that was when you were shot at," Myrtle concluded. She couldn't say that she was surprised by Fiona abandoning the poor girl on that street. "And you have no reason to suspect that Fiona had something to do with this?"

Yes. "Why should I?"

Myrtle held Isabel's gaze for the longest time, neither daring to blink. Isabel wasn't lying, but the whole truth wasn't coming out. Myrtle could easily pull it out from her; she was a Guardian of Veracity in the Vernacular. Uncovering the truth was her specialty. She studied Isabel, trying to determine if using her powers would be would necessary.

No, she could see the look in Isabel's eyes. Isabel truly didn't believe that Fiona set this up, and although Myrtle wouldn't put it past Fiona, she let the matter go for now.

Isabel sensed the understanding between her and Myrtle. She looked down at her lap, chewing her lower lip until it grew sore. "I know there isn't much you can do with this." She didn't have a description for them. She hadn't seen a face. All she had to offer was the fact that she had been shot at.

"More useful than not saying anything," Quentin pointed out. "Seems hunters are getting bolder. Next thing you know they'll be wearing neon patterns and tattooing 'I hate witches' on their foreheads."

Instead of acknowledging Quentin had said anything, Isabel slowly started to stand from her chair. "I'm going to just… go now. There's nothing else I have to tell you." There was no more information to give, and she needed to go up to her room. There was something she needed to work out. She couldn't share it with the Council, not yet. She wasn't sure enough in her theory.

Without letting the Council say anything else to her, Isabel bolted from the room and hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. She shut the door, locking it behind her. She needed to talk and she wasn't about to risk anyone interrupting her.

"Why didn't the bullet hit me?" Isabel asked Joe. "I was walking slowly; a super easy target. There was no reason to miss me."

"Are you complaining about not getting shot?"

"No! Well, sort of I guess. I'm saying that it doesn't make sense. I was completely distracted. What's the cliché? Fish in a barrel? I was easier to shoot than fish in a barrel!" Isabel exclaimed, her uneasiness about the situation giving way to this twisted sense of excitement; a mad scientist on the verge of a breakthrough.

"I get the point: you're easy to kill."

"There were two gunshots." Joe raised his eyebrows at this. That certainly changed things, didn't it? Isabel continued, "The first one made me stop in my tracks. I don't even think it came near me. I was absolutely still. So why didn't the second gunshot hit me?"

There was a pause as the question dangled in the air, daring either of them to answer. And in that moment, Joe understood exactly what Isabel was getting at.

"You think it was a warning shot."

The Axeman never understood those. It was a cheap cop-out. Why bother going out with the intent to kill and only end up making a threat? People who did that were weak. Real killers left no survivors. He never left anyone alive. Everyone who met his blade were also quick to meet death.

"That's exactly what I think," Isabel confirmed. "Now my question is: why? I mean, according to my dad, killers may hesitate if they know the person."

This information didn't help her at all, though. She couldn't think of anyone who would do such a thing. Her mind briefly flashed to Fiona, but Isabel quickly shot down that prospect. Fiona would never orchestrate something like that! Besides, why go through the trouble of having someone shoot her when Fiona was with her most of the night? It seemed like an awful amount of work and trouble to go through. Too messy.

"I need to think," Isabel muttered, grabbing her phone from the nightstand. The academy wasn't the place for her to concentrate. She needed to get away; go somewhere peaceful. Is this what Nan felt like all of the time?

Isabel left her room and nearly ran into Hank at the bottom of the stairs.

"Whoa, careful," he said. "Rushing off somewhere?"

"Yeah, I have to do something."

"You sure that's a good idea after everything that happened?"

"I'll be fine as long as no one shoots at me," she answered over her shoulder, not giving Hank much of a second thought.

And that was just the problem wasn't it? No one ever did.

Isabel walked out of the academy, walking briskly. She didn't know if she was making a good choice, but at the moment, the cemetery seemed like the best place to be for a girl so in touch with the dead.


	17. Chapter 16

Thank you so much for the continued support on this story! Only two more chapters left after this!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Isabel didn't like cemeteries in warm weather. No autumn breeze, no eerie chill. Bodies were supposed to be cold and all she could picture were corpses melting like popsicles in the crypts rather than sleeping peacefully in the cool soil.

The cemetery was empty. No people, not living anyway. Surrounded by the dead, Isabel felt consoled. There were no spirits she could see, but she could feel them. There was comfort in being by herself but not alone. She brought her hand to the warm marble of a crypt.

This place made her miss Los Angeles. There was nothing quite like being surrounded by the dead while at home. A cemetery in New Orleans just wasn't the same. Nothing in New Orleans was the same, and Isabel couldn't decide if she loved or hated it.

Part of her despised this place. She still wasn't pleased about being sent to the academy. She was apparently in more danger here than she thought. Her emotions were being toyed with.

But Isabel loved it. She loved the adventure. She loved being special. She loved Fiona's attention.

That was the main thing: Fiona's attention. Isabel determined that she didn't actually love Fiona though she knew that if the woman were to appear right next to her it would absolutely feel like love. She liked the attention, and the validation.

It was all the more reason to get away.

Fiona was clouding her head and scrambling her thoughts. Isabel wasn't herself at this place, and while Fiona wasn't entirely to blame, she certainly was a big factor. What happened to the girl who traveled the country with her father; the girl who didn't make strong emotional ties because she would be leaving?

The girl who wasn't…

No, she wasn't gay. Isabel knew that. It didn't feel right when that label tumbled around in her head. It may be someone's missing puzzle piece, but for Isabel, it didn't fit. She didn't know what did, though, and it hurt her head to try and figure it out.

Everything about New Orleans hurt her head. Staying here wasn't doing anything for her. She wasn't learning. She was nearly getting killed. It was a counterproductive existence. She knew that, but knowing wasn't enough; she needed to act upon it. Coming to the academy may have been for her own good, but staying wasn't.

The air changed. It was no longer completely dead. There was someone else there; someone alive.

"I may have to get a restraining order if you're going to keep stalking me," Isabel said as she turned to face Fiona.

"A restraining order for keeping an eye on you to keep you out of trouble?"

"That's not why you're here." Isabel wasn't an idiot, and she refused to act like one anymore. She went along with Fiona's game for the longest time, but she couldn't keep it up. Not if she wanted to keep on living. "You're here because you know I'm leaving, don't you?"

"And how could I possibly know such a thing? I'm a witch, not a psychic."

"Yeah, but you know me. You got in my head and now you probably know every move I'm going to make before I even know."

Fiona smirked, not denying the truth. She cocked her head to the side as she cupped Isabel's chin. "But you love it. You love having someone know you so well."

She did. She absolutely loved it. Even Derek didn't know her so well. Yes, he was her father but he couldn't possible predict her as well as Fiona could. But the problem was: she was Fiona's puppet. That was how Fiona knew her so well; she controlled her. And Fiona knowing her well didn't make this right. Here in the graveyard, her mind was clear. She could focus. She thrived among the dead.

"I'm leaving," Isabel said firmly. It didn't matter that Fiona already knew. Saying this gave her the power. "Can I trust you not to stalk me?"

Fiona smirked. Entertaining until the end. "Can I trust you to keep away from me?" she asked in return.

And with complete honest, Isabel said, "I don't know."

"''"""''"""

Silence blanketed Cordelia's office like the first freshly fallen snow of the year: light but soul-crushing as dreams of endless autumn days came to an end. And it was time for Isabel's days at the academy to come to an end.

"You're sure about this?"

"I've been unsure about a lot of things lately," Isabel admitted. "But…"

"But you're sure about this," Cordelia said, nodding slowly. She supposed that she should have seen this coming. Isabel resented the academy when she first arrived, and her adjustment could hardly be called that. Now with the witch hunter ordeal… Cordelia couldn't blame Isabel. That didn't mean she was willing to let her go so easily. "As a witch, the academy is the safest place for you."

Except it wasn't. "I've had more near death experiences while enrolled here than when I was home… and my home is full of dead people who were murdered." The witch hunter, the car… true, the car incident didn't happen here in New Orleans, but it wouldn't have happened at all if she didn't attend the academy. It was like this place was a bad luck charm.

Cordelia could see that there was no use fighting this. She tried going against Isabel when she wanted to leave for Halloween and what happened? Isabel got her way. Cordelia could see that this would be the same: Isabel was going to do whatever it took to get her way. "You'll be happier back home." There was no question about it. Cordelia knew it to be true.

"''''"""'''""

"I think you're the only thing I'm going to miss about this place."

"But you won't miss me enough to stay."

"Be serious: you're glad to get me out of your hair," Isabel said as she stored her record player in her suitcase.

"Well I'm glad to get rid of your music." Even in this moment, Joe wasn't go to lie and say she had good taste in music. It was awful. Would he miss her though? He couldn't deny that there was a part of him that had gotten used to her. Sad wasn't the right word for it, though. It was more bittersweet.

Isabel started folding her clothes. She paused a moment, frowning in thought. "You never played for me."

"What's that?"

"You were supposed to play your saxophone for me as my birthday present, and you never did."

Joe grinned faintly, knowing exactly what she was getting at. "Well go on then, Little Witch: ask me."

Isabel returned his smile. Yes, she would miss him. "Will you play for me?"

Jazz music filled the air as Isabel continued packing.


	18. Chapter 17

Special thanks to anonymouscisfan for the continued support! And to answer your question, I might do an Apocalypse installment for this series.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Standing at the edge of her driveway, Isabel couldn't help but note that home seemed different now. It felt like reuniting with a friend from high school at a reunion: familiar, but changed. She looked to the house next door; her mother's house. Looking away, Isabel walked up the driveway and entered her home.

She barely had time to set down her luggage when she was nearly tackled to the ground by Tate. "You're home," he murmured, hugging her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. Isabel didn't mind one bit.

"Careful you don't crush her to dust," Derek chuckled.

Tate released Isabel but her freedom didn't last long as Derek stepped in and embraced her just as tightly. He kissed the top of her head. Sending her to the academy was the right decision at the time, but he was glad that she was back home now.

Isabel never told him about the witch hunter. She probably never would.

When Derek released Isabel, he noticed how she was looking past him to the kitchen. "Go on," he said to her, stepping aside.

Wasting no time, Isabel bolted to the kitchen and found Moira pouring tea. Moira smiled as she pushed a teacup towards Isabel. "I hope things aren't strained between us," Moira said. She was the one who eventually convinced Isabel that Derek had sent her to Miss Robichaux's because it was the best thing for her. As it turned out, that wasn't quite true. They had argued over it when Isabel came home for Halloween.

Isabel shook her head. It wasn't like this was her fault, and besides, Moira was her friend and Isabel couldn't stay mad at her. She picked up the teacup and took a greedy gulp. It was delicious, warming her insides in a way she didn't know she craved until that moment of satisfaction. She was home.

That didn't mean she was finished, though. Being home meant there was one more thing for her to do. Isabel finished her tea in silence, finding comfort in the energy of the house. Moira didn't speak, seeing that Isabel was finding peace in the stillness.

Derek came into the kitchen just as Isabel finished her tea and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, wordlessly telling her that he was glad she was home.

"I'm going to see her," Isabel told Derek and Moira.

This surprised Derek. Was Isabel actually admitting to go see "her" of her own volition? He looked to Moira, eyebrows raised as a way of asking her if she knew anything about this. She didn't, of course. It was just as much of a surprise to her as it was to him.

"Are you sure?" Derek asked, resisting the urge to check Isabel's temperature to see if she was running a fever and therefore delusional.

"Yeah." Isabel didn't elaborate. There was no need to. She wasn't even sure what she wanted to talk to Constance about. But they did need to talk, which is how Isabel ended up in Constance's kitchen.

The last time she had been there, she hadn't known Constance was her mother. She hadn't known that she was a witch. The last time she had been there, she baked cupcakes.

Now she was back, and everything had changed.

Funny, Isabel had been so deadest on talking to Constance and now that she was at her house, she didn't know what to say. She sat at the kitchen table, picking at her nails as she tried searching for the right words.

"You were right." It was damn near painful to say. Isabel didn't like admitting to Constance that she was right. But it was important. "About something bad happening on my birthday? I uh, well, a witch hunter almost shot me."

Constance tensed. Horror twisted her heart as she imagined her little girl getting hit by a silver bullet. She couldn't respond right away, dealing with the mental images of losing yet another one of her children.

"You haven't told your father," Constance finally said. If Isabel had told Derek about this, he would surely be at her doorstep, yelling about how sending Isabel to the academy was an awful idea and how dare she have suggested it. And Constance wouldn't blame him if this was the case, but she didn't feel the same way. The academy had been a good idea. Isabel didn't complete her education there, but she knew more than before.

"I don't plan on saying anything any time soon," Isabel insisted. She didn't want to lie to Derek, but was it really lying if she didn't mention anything in the first place? "Also, when I was here last Halloween, I almost got hit by a car."

"Again?!"

"Trust me, it's not a habit I'm proud of."

There was silence as mother and daughter recalled that fateful night when Isabel was just seventeen. It was the night Constance came clean.

 _I had to give her up._

 _And you think it's me._

 _No. I don't think it's you. I_ know _it is._

"There's a lot we still need to talk about," Constance said.

"I know." They still had problems that Isabel couldn't ignore forever, no matter how much she wanted to. Someday she was going to need to grow up and deal with these issues she clearly had. "Just not today." She didn't know when, but Isabel couldn't do it at that moment. She was too emotionally drained. Isabel needed time to relish being home and away from Miss Robichaux's.

The relishing didn't last long. The days became boring, and soon the nights became endless.

Isabel lay in her bed on one of these nights, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't bring herself to sleep, not when there was so much to think about. Did she make the right choice was the one question she kept coming back to. It was the same thing she asked herself when she faced the Witches' Council. Would she be asking it for the rest of her life?

She turned over onto her side, sighing heavily. Doubt filled her chest, barely leaving any room for her heart.

She supposed that returning to high school was the next step. Isabel really didn't want to. Everyone would be asking question that she didn't have answers for. It wasn't like she could say she was at an academy for witches.

Maybe she ought to transfer to another school. Not a witching one; she had enough of magic to last her a lifetime.

The restlessness was almost too much to bear. Isabel got out of bed and looked out of her window. She could see a light on in Constance's house. It seemed she couldn't sleep either. Or she was waiting.

Isabel slipped on her shoes and, still dressed in her pajamas, went next door. She knocked, and the door opened. Constance stepped aside to let Isabel in, and then led her to the kitchen where hot chocolate with cinnamon waited for her.


	19. Epilogue

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story! Special thanks to msariadneoliver for being such a wonderful writing buddy (please check out her work if you haven't!) and to anonymouscsifan for sticking with this story and literally all of it's variations. I promise this is the one that stays!

I'm considering doing an apocalypse installment of this series if there's enough interest for it.

* * *

EPILOGUE

Isabel put her cereal bowl in the sink to wash later with the pile of her other dishes. It was quite a few months since she moved in, and she still hadn't learned to wash dishes right away. Oh well, maybe someday she'd pick up on the habit. She was still getting the hang of living on her own. It was strange, but she was convinced that she made the right choice. A quaint apartment down the road from the academy and not far from the coffee shop she worked at.

She continued to watch the television for a few more seconds before shutting it off. She had sworn to herself that she wouldn't go back to the academy, and she really didn't want to. But it was a case of need versus want, and Isabel knew that she needed to go. Too many lose ends.

After showering, she found a pair of black high-waisted slacks buried in one of her drawers and paired them with a black blouse, creating an outfit that would have made Fiona proud. Not that it mattered anymore.

 _Ding dong, the witch is dead…_

Taking advantage of the fact that it actually wasn't uncomfortably humid out, Isabel walked to Miss Robichaux's. It hadn't changed a bit except for the fact that it radiated welcoming energy. No longer was it the intimidating academy, but a second home for witches.

Isabel entered through the gate and before she even reached the front door, it opened for her. Cordelia stood there, smiling widely.

"Nan told me you were coming," she explained.

"I should have known." Isabel paused a moment to really take Cordelia in. She looked brighter than ever; a star plucked from the cosmos. "You look good."

"So do you." It was apparent in that moment to Cordelia that leaving the academy had been a good thing for Isabel. Even though she ended up moving back to New Orleans, keeping a distance from Miss Robichaux's was obviously healthy for her. "I don't suppose you're here to rejoin us?" Cordelia asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Isabel smiled apologetically as she shook her head. "Sorry Delia, not a chance."

She should have expected as much. "Well, at least come inside and meet the girls. You're still part of this coven after all."

And Isabel supposed she was. It didn't matter if she attended the academy, or if she lived in New Orleans. This was her coven, and a part of her would always belong here.


End file.
